


Reflection

by prettypriestess



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, also I was bummed we don't see Mouse again after the magi origin, and I didn't care for the demonic temptations in the game, but alistair gets the most scenes, so I brought Mouse back too :), so he's the only one with a tag, technically kind of an ensemble fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-24
Updated: 2021-01-28
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:47:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 34,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24898678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prettypriestess/pseuds/prettypriestess
Summary: Eamon frowns, considering again. He seems to be wavering but steels himself. "Nonetheless, I must insist. He is a danger to himself and everyone around him."Neria holds his gaze for a moment. "Then, it doesn't have to be your decision. I'm invoking the Right of Conscription."The Warden recruits Jowan after Redcliffe.
Relationships: Jowan/Surana (Dragon Age), Jowan/Warden (Dragon Age)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 18
Collections: nice fics





	1. Eamon's Dungeon

**Author's Note:**

> *shows up 10 years late with Starbucks* People are still crying about Jowan right? I started writing this because I downloaded the Karma's Origins Companions mod so I could rescue Jowan (and then broke it and my laptop lmao so I didn't even get to finish the Jowan companion stuff ORZ), and then it turns out my hcs were pretty different so it didn't scratch the itch. Then, I wrote *checks wrist* over 50k to cope. 
> 
> Also, I noticed a lot of "Jowan was taught blood magic by Uldred" and "Jowan gives up blood magic" fics, which are great, but I wanted to fill the gap with "actually let's make some deals with demons" fic because I'm a big fan of the Two Cakes model of fanwork creation lmao.
> 
> This fic is completed, barring some edits, so I will be posting twice a week (Saturday/Tuesday) until the whole thing is up.

When Neria hears "blood mage," shamefully, her first thought isn't hope but anger. _Which of Uldred's bastards slipped through my fingers?_

She would hate more than anything in the world for Cullen to have been right about something.

Jowan's "Is someone there?" rings down the corridor. Neria slows, half afraid that the blood mage the arlessa mentioned is playing some mind trick on them from the cell; maybe there is another demon to imitate what they all want to hear most, whatever will trap them in this dungeon the longest while it preys on whoever is left in Eamon's estate. 

"Did you hear that?" Alistair says. 

Neria picks up her pace. Jowan peeking through the bars, his face streaked in dirt, half-starved, catches Neria so off-guard that the tears are falling before she gets halfway across the room. 

Jowan perks up, looking over her shoulder at her friends, confused but already in full damage control mode. He turns up the babbling to keep the attention off her, explaining his troubles with Eamon and Loghain as he tries to put himself through the bars to reach Neria, as if he can somehow clamber between them to protect her from her companions before she grabs his robes and gets snot all over them. His hands are cool, but he is real. "Lady Isolde thought I was responsible for the demon. She... had me tortured," he finishes.

Neria sends a healing spell over him, briefly wondering if she can get away with killing an arlessa. Leliana's checkered past doesn't seem to allow for assassination these days, unfortunately, and she left Zevran at camp. "I'll take care of it," she assures him softly.

Neria is sure he would smell terrible if she could smell anything, but the road hasn't been kind to her robes, either, still covered in ichor and rotted blood.

"Not worried about the maleficar, then? All right," Alistair says from behind, his voice too light with nerves.

Neria wipes her face on her sleeve like she's twelve and trying to cry her way out of trouble with an enchanter and tries to explain, "This is my best friend, Jowan."

"How wonderful!" Leliana says. "Perhaps it was the Maker who brought you together." Normally, Neria is not one for Andrastianism, but there are few ways for Jowan to have made it this far without divine intervention.

"Andraste watches out for fools and drunks," Jowan agrees. "I used to hear that a lot."

Alistair laughs nervously as he glances around the group. Neria supposes she isn't being much of a leader at the moment; he relies on her to maintain her calm, and everything is wrong and messed up and Jowan is behind bars. 

"Okay, he _is_ a blood mage, though, isn't he? That's what the arlessa said," Alistair insists with a tone of polite confusion.

Morrigan looks unconvinced. "Ah yes, he _looks_ like a dangerous maleficar," she deadpans.

"Can I get a moment with Jowan?" Neria asks.

Alistair hesitates—about the blood mage thing, probably, not the blubbering, but he hasn't seen Neria cry yet, either, despite... everything. Not over Duncan, who rescued her from the Circle, not over the bodies of everyone she knew in the tower, not over the militia outside the windmill who suffered casualties, despite her best efforts. She is a bit overdue. "Of course," Alistair says. In an undertone, he asks, "You're sure he's not... dangerous?" Jowan's hand tightens over Neria's.

"Not to me," Neria insists. 

"We'll just... keep clearing out undead, then?" Alistair says. 

Neria nods. 

Leliana offers a reassuring smile on her way out, Morrigan following without further disagreement. Shadow doesn't follow them, which is fine by her. 

She waits a moment for Alistair to clank down the hall before speaking. "I got a mabari," she says, just in case anyone is still in earshot and because it's a fun thing to say.

"A— _really?_ " He says, looking to Shadow. "He's imprinted on you and everything? That's amazing."

Neria holds a hand out, and Shadow trots over obligingly, sitting at her feet and looking up to Jowan with delight, wagging his stumpy nub tail. "I named him Shadow. He's a Warden, too." 

Jowan kneels; he always was a dog person. Neria wasn't, not until Shadow, which probably makes her less of a dog person and more of a Shadow person, but Jowan always put up with her anyway. "Shadow, this is Jowan. Get a good sniff," she instructs.

"Planning to track me down?" Jowan teases, but he has that tremble in his voice he used to save for the enchanters, not for Neria. Never for Neria.

The lump in her throat is back. "Only if you try to leave me behind again." She sniffles a little, clearing her nose. "I don't want to go around wondering if you're still alive."

"Sorry I made you worry," Jowan says. Shadow wags his tail harder at the attention. "Sorry for a lot of things."

"What do you think, Shadow? You like him?" Shadow barks once, enthusiastically. "I knew you would. He's a dog person."

"You're such a clever boy," Jowan tells him. "Mabari were made by mages. They're supposed to be very smart."

"They are," she agrees, which delights Shadow. "He can understand most everything you're saying."

Jowan's eyes light up. "Really? Oh, you're so lucky."

Neria isn't sure how true that is, but Jowan is still alive, they're both out of the Circle, and she has friends close enough to call family, so she supposes she's not really unlucky, either. True, the whole country has gone to shit and there's a Blight, but that's not just _her_ bad luck.

"Are you really a Grey Warden now? What is it like?" Jowan asks. It's a safe enough topic, compared to everything they could be talking about, so she lets him get away with it.

"A lot like being an apostate, right now. Loghain wants me dead." Jowan grimaces, face twisting in a familiar guilt. At the mention of Loghain, Shadow lets out a grumbly, displeased sound. 

She fishes the signet ring from Teagan out of her pocket to unlock his cell. "What are you doing?" he whispers, standing up to look down the hall after her friends, but they're well on their way to Eamon already. She can barely feel Alistair at the edge of her Warden senses, but he seems to have stopped there, probably hesitant to go where he can't feel her after leaving her with a _dangerous maleficar_.

"Letting you go, obviously. But you have to tell me how you've been," she says, leading Jowan back toward the windmill. 

She considers offering Wardenship to Jowan, but she doesn't know how to perform the Joining yet, and Neria doesn't think she could take it if Jowan died in the attempt. She used to wish Jowan could have come with her, that Duncan's invitation could have gone out to him, too, but after watching Daveth choke on blood and Duncan put Jory down like an animal, she doesn't think she could have watched either happen to Jowan. He always was a coward, and she always was ready to fight for him, to the Void with her good sense and better judgement.

Irving used to tell Neria it was stupid. He tried to encourage her to distance herself from Jowan in those last few weeks before her Harrowing. It is possible, she realizes, that her Harrowing was moved up because of her insistent association with Jowan. Irving liked her because she was talented, yes, but there was plenty of talent in the Circle. Magic could be _taught_ to any passable mage, if the tutors cared to try. Irving chose _Neria_ for her ruthless pragmatism more than anything. Too much like him.

Jowan always made her soft. She liked having one friend she could trust. 

She stops at the bottom of the stairs, sliding down to sit and tugging at his sleeve so he could sit, too, arm pressed to hers in the cramped stairwell while he gives Shadow attention. "I don't want you to go away again," she says petulantly. It had been hard enough working her nerve up to help him run away with Lily; better to never see him again and know him safe than to let Greagoir give him the brand. 

"You don't want me with you," he says. "Not after what I've done."

"Yes, I do," she insists. "But you'll be safer on the road."

"I'm not much use in combat, anyway," he says, which is definitely untrue; Neria saw him level a squadron of Greagoir's best, but she can at least understand any reservations about using blood magic again. It never struck her as particularly special; magic is a tool, like any other. It's certainly no more dangerous than an unchecked lord or templar. If Neria wanted to do harm, she doesn't think she would need blood magic for it. 

"Where will you go after this?" she asks. Neria digs a water skin and some rations out of her bag for Jowan next. She makes a mental note not to return to Redcliffe without Zevran.

Jowan shrugs, taking the water skin with too much relief. When he is done hydrating, he says, "I don't know. I just want to make up for what I've done. I wish I could just go back and undo it all."

She doesn't know when Jowan got to be the strong one and when she became the crybaby, but she can feel her eyes sting again. Neria shoves the feeling down and unfastens her coin purse next. "Take this with you."

Jowan tries to refuse, but she shoves it into his free hand. "Maker's breath, how much is in here?"

Neria shrugs. They don't exactly teach long-term investment banking at the Circle; the first week of being out of the tower, she spent a lot of time looking to Alistair and Morrigan for guidance on whether a merchant was giving her an honest price or not. It's a lot of money, but she can make more. The chances are pretty even she will be dead by the end of the year, anyway. "Just take it. Get out of here and use it to stay safe. You can use some of it to help people."

"Like you? What have you been doing?"

Apparently, being too slow to save her best friend from torture. "I'm traveling with Wynne now."

"The senior enchanter?" He asks. It's been a long time since he took any of her classes. Everyone went through a few basics, and she liked to teach the really young students when she stuck around long enough. Neria excelled enough to make it to her advanced classes, but Jowan never did. "She was always really nice," Jowan offers.

Neria huffs again. "It's like taking the Circle with me everywhere I go. I missed her, and she's a great help, but it's—it's like having Irving over my shoulder all the time. And she's such a Chantry apologist!"

He laughs. "She just knows when to keep her mouth shut, not like me. Well, that and they always let her leave when she wanted. Easier to like the Circle when you're allowed to leave."

"Exactly!" Neria insists.

"They would have let you leave someday, too, I'm sure," Jowan says. "Not like you were always trying to escape like Anders."

Maybe Neria could have stood to be a little more like Anders. His body wasn't in the wreckage of the Circle. Apparently, he made another escape attempt right before Uldred fucked everything. She hopes this one sticks. "I don't think Irving would have let me leave for a long time," Neria admits. He knew her too well. She was always good at playing the perfect student, but it was hard to slip much by him when they had so much in common. Irving wasn't allowed to leave much, either, not until he had too much responsibility, too much power to leave it behind. That's the same trap he was planning for Neria, she could see it. He was always saying things like, _You'd make a great enchanter someday_ , and _I hope my replacement is half as promising as you_. She is pretty sure he only meant for her to _go with the Wardens_ like Wynne _went with the Wardens_ , not to be conscripted. He groomed Neria too well to let her go that easily. Jowan saved her if she looks at it like that.

"Can I ask you about blood magic?" she says into the silence. Jowan has always been good about giving her space to think.

"I-if you want," he allows.

Neria demonstrates a little on a nearby corpse, just the damage trick she learned from Avernus. Jowan pales in concern. "I learned this from another Warden, but there were other blood magics, some abilities even for non-mages. Can anyone just... learn it without making a deal with a demon?" She quickly heals the cut she made while Jowan gapes.

"I... don't know," Jowan admits after a moment. "None of the blood magic books in the library had any spells in them, barely even any concrete theory. I've never tried to teach it. ...Are you asking me to teach you?"

 _Is_ she asking him to teach her? "Maybe," she says after a moment. "I'll take any help with the Blight. In the Circle," Jowan frowns, which makes Neria laugh, trying again to start her sentence. She gives Jowan the short version of everything that happened there—Uldred, the blood mages, killing the husks of people they both used to know. Uldred might have taught the other blood mages or he might have just shown them how to make a pact, she's not sure, and Jowan doesn't offer the answer, though he looks unsettled at the mention of Uldred. "In the Circle, when Uldred was possessed, he didn't look all.... you know."

"Demon-y?" Jowan offers. 

"Wynne asked me about it, actually. If there was a way an abomination could be... not an abomination. I thought if there was some way to co-exist, maybe, if you could..." Neria doesn't know what. It's antithetical to a demon's nature to relinquish or share any control; Uldred might not have _looked_ like an abomination, but he certainly wasn't in control. Perhaps it is presumptuous to even consider that a demon's concept of intelligence would be at all comparable or comprehensible to a mortal's. Wynne hadn't been there to see the thing inhabiting Sophia Dryden's corpse, but it had seemed sentient. Certainly more so than the feral, possessed corpses infesting Redcliffe. Neria loses more sleep wondering if killing that thing technically counts as murder than she does over, for example, killing any definitely human bandits. 

Jowan looks distinctly uncomfortable with this line of questioning. Eventually, he allows, "Maybe. Most mages when they make a deal, they don't really take the time to negotiate." He takes a moment, considering before he adds, "I think it's usually a last-minute desperation kind of bargain."

"Exactly," Neria insists. " _You_ got to negotiate."

He blanches. "I-I, well, I mean—"

"You don't have to tell me," she says. "Whatever you paid, I don't have to know." She does, she _does._ Neria needs to know that Jowan paid with his own life and not someone else's, that he didn't cross that line. She needs to hear that actually, he _did_ , he was selfish in this one thing, and he is going to live to a ripe old age like Wynne, like Neria never will. "They put a demon in me for the Harrowing, that's the test, that's what the Harrowing is," she starts. She doesn't know how to bridge the gap between _I think I want to meet Mouse again, do you think he lied about everything or just some things?_ and _I swear I won't become an abomination_ , and _Is it really so bad being a blood mage?_

"They _what?_ " Jowan starts against her side.

"That's why we're not allowed to talk about it in the Circle. They put a demon _in_ you and then they tell you to fight it off or they'll kill you. That's why I didn't tell you before, I was afraid Irving would know you knew and you would be in danger, and then it didn't even matter." Neria chokes a bit on a sound that's trying to be a sob. "Cullen was there for mine. After, he—" she has to take another moment to compose herself.

" _Cullen_? The one with a crush on you?"

"More than a crush, apparently," she grinds out. Neria hasn't had time to process this, any of it. She doesn't know who she would tell. Wynne? She wouldn't understand, she thinks of the Circle as _home_. The thought makes Neria ill. She missed Wynne _so much._ Wynne was such a mother figure to her, to all of the apprentices, and now that Wynne is around, it's like being shackled to the Circle whenever she's in the room. Neria takes a breath, tries again. "Before I met with Irving after my Harrowing, before we—before we destroyed your phylactery, Cullen told me _he_ was the one to do the killing blow if something went wrong. Gregoir picked _him_."

"Poor bastard. That's pretty messed up," Jowan says. "Even for templars."

Neria is aware, objectively, _why_ Cullen was chosen; to enforce distance and animosity and the power difference between templars and mages. Greagoir picked him because Cullen's feelings for her were a liability, a _weakness_ , the same way her feelings for Jowan are a weakness, but the knowledge doesn't relieve any of her anger for him. "He told me like it was something to be proud of, like—" she clenches her fists and Shadow is there, snuffling at her hands. "—like he would rather it be someone who _cared._ He told me he would have been _sad_ about it, but he would have done it."

Jowan puts an arm around her shoulders, holding Neria like he held her when she first came to the Circle and no one else wanted to be around her because she was mean and violent and she just missed her mother _so much_ , they _tore her_ _away_ and—

The tears start again, great choking sobs like she hasn't done in years. It takes a while to settle herself again to continue, "Cullen was still in the Circle. Uldred put him in a prison and tortured him, and then..." she reigns herself in until she has enough calm to snarl the words, "He said, 'they caged us like animals, tried to force us to break.' He wanted me to kill everyone who survived _just_ _in case_ they were blood mages."

" _What_ ," Jowan replies with more outrage than she has ever heard from him.

Shadow snarls, too, which makes Jowan a little nervous until Neria pets Shadow and calls him a good boy. Then, she pats Jowan's hand on her shoulder and calls him a good boy, too, so Shadow knows and because she can admit she's a little dizzy from all the crying. Neria feels addled and disoriented like after her Harrowing, sleep-deprived then and sleep-deprived now. "Even Greagoir told him he was being an arse."

Jowan laughs so Neria can feel it all around her, his arm still over her shoulder, her forehead pressed against his chest. She has missed him, missed being the outcasts. It's not the same now, not with all her other friends not understanding what it was like to be in the Circle, not with Wynne carrying the ghost of the Circle and Neria's mother with her. It's the one anger she has never had to explain before because everyone in the Circle felt it, and now no one she knows understands.

"It's not like he doesn't know," Neria snarls. "He was _there_ when Irving put a _demon_ in me! He was _there,_ and he said he would have been _really sad_ if he had to kill me, but he _would_ if he had to." She sniffles again, trying to get her voice back under control, but she is hoarse beyond fixing so easily, she expects. She will probably have to cast a quick heal and clean up her face before meeting everyone in the castle.

"Don't they teach irony at templar school?" Jowan asks.

"Alistair _swears_ they do, but I think he's just being funny."

"Alistair, he's the other Warden?" Jowan asks.

Neria nods. "He was all I had for a while after you left."

Neria just feels Jowan's chest rise and fall under her head for a moment before he says, again, "I'm sorry."

Neria squeezes his hand on her shoulder. "I never blamed you," she says. "The Grey Warden who recruited me, he said he did it because he admired my loyalty. You're the only reason I'm free of the Circle right now."

Jowan squeezes her shoulder. "You should have just disavowed me." The words are barely more than a whisper.

"It wouldn't have mattered," Neria murmurs back. "I don't regret it."

"Is that..." Jowan takes a shaky breath. "What happened to Lily?"

Neria doesn't know how to even begin to untangle the mess of anger and guilt at the name. It's not really Lily's fault, of course, none of it was, and Lily is the only reason Jowan even knew to run, but it's hard not to hate her for her parting words to Jowan. "I don't know. She was punished, but I don't know what they did. The Warden only took me."

Jowan's tears are no less gutting for how quiet he keeps them. Neria shifts, sitting up to tug his head down to her shoulder while his shoulders shake under her arms. They are a little more practiced at this, but not by much; the Circle was never a place to show tears. "I'm sorry," she says. It doesn't change anything, of course, excepting that the balance of anger and guilt shifts heavily toward guilt, but Jowan has been saying it, so it feels like the thing to say.

He nods uselessly into her shoulder, tears still dampening her collar. She runs her fingers through his hair to soothe them both. It's grimier and more tangled than she's ever seen it, and she thinks again that she only needs Eamon's support, and if he's as unconscious as Jowan says, she has a rare window of opportunity to rid the world of his wife without witnesses.

She waits a few moments after he settles, after she feels all her tears are gone, too. Neria sniffles again, preparing herself to rush out the next question before she loses her nerve. "How did you find the demon you made a deal with?"

Jowan stiffens. "Neria," he tries. "You don't want to make a deal with a demon." It's been a while since anyone actually used her name like that. It's all "Warden" this and "Warden" that these days. She doesn't think half the people speaking to her even know her name. Usually, she's not even the only Warden present.

Neria wipes her nose again. "Probably not," she agrees. "But I want to talk to the one from my Harrowing, even if I don't make a deal. Did you get to pick the demon you met?"

Jowan makes a wavy hand motion. "It helps to have a name, but," he laughs, somewhat self-deprecatingly, "it's not hard to find a demon in the Fade." He gives her a moment to mull this over before he asks, "Do you know what kind of demon it was?"

"Pride." Neria doesn't know if it's something in Jowan's face or hers, or maybe Shadow just knows that much about demons, but he rests his head on her feet, looking up at her with his big eyes. Neria always thought she would fall to a rage demon, if she went. One too many templars not maintaining their distance in the baths or someone would hurt Jowan and she would have to hurt them back or maybe just being cooped up, her inevitable path toward becoming exactly like Irving would finally get to her and she would snap. She has bottled up so much of her anger for so long. It was easier than she expected to resist the rage demon in her Harrowing, even when it pulled on her mind, pressed at every memory of anger she had. 

She never thought of herself as a prideful person, not like that. Pride is a sin for people like Loghain, who thinks himself more important than the safety of a whole kingdom, than all of Thedas. Pride was Uldred using apprentices, throwing away the ones who didn't meet his standards, the demon in him insisting that mages must "evolve," taking away the agency of every mage he touched as surely as Irving did, the fucking hypocrite.

Neria spent her whole life swallowing her pride to get by, ignoring comments on her ears and her heritage, never speaking of her mother in the Circle, bowing to any Enchanter or mage who would get her just a little higher, just a little closer to leaving now and then, seeing the sky when she wanted to, like Wynne. Irving would ask her to jump and she would ask, "how high?"

"You never do things by halves, do you?" Jowan says.

Neria shakes her head. She was never going to be content with just being a Circle mage, not even if she made First Enchanter. She can't just settle for fighting darkspawn, she has to make a whole _thing_ of fighting Loghain and the archdemon personally.

Maybe she has been a prideful person all along.

"I think Irving picked pride because the demons are too smart to possess someone at a Harrowing," Neria admits. It's a thought she has been considering for a while. She still hasn't explained the particulars of her Harrowing to Alistair. It's enough to know that he knows what goes into the ritual. "His name was Mouse, and he reminded me of you a little." That was by design, of course. Mouse had Jowan's meekness, Jowan's willingness to explain obvious things without judgement and to let Neria be angry about the Circle. Mouse said he was a failed apprentice, cut down in his Harrowing because he took too long; that play to her specific fears for Jowan should have been warning enough that he was a demon. She never minded letting Jowan make her soft before. Her friendship with Jowan was the one thing Irving hated most, and she was determined not to let him take it.

The thought occurs to her, the cold stone of the stairs and the earthen wall on her side opposite Jowan sapping her warmth, that maybe Irving let Greagoir go after Jowan on purpose, maybe he _sent_ Greagoir after Jowan. Maybe Greagoir's "evidence" of Jowan's blood magic was just Jowan looking at the books on blood magic Irving had on his desk, the books he set out to bait apprentices. Neria hates him. She hates Irving, maybe more than she hates the archdemon. Maybe as much as she hates Loghain.

"It does seem rather stupid," Jowan agrees. "Does every demon think it can just take out a whole Circle?"

"I don't think most of them care. I don't think they care about mortality or dying. They're more ideas than complete beings. We're just bodies to them."

Jowan grimaces. "Gruesome to think about it like that."

Neria's socially awkward bluntness never bothered him before, so she never takes offense at his, in return. She can be a little gruesome at the best of times, and this is certainly not the best of times.

"I could write down what I remember of the ritual, but it isn't the whole thing," Jowan admits. "I really don't think you should do it, though. A pride demon... that's dangerous business."

She thinks about arguing, _I just want to talk to him, I'm not going to make a deal_ , but that's such a _proud_ thing to say that the irony sticks the words to her throat. Instead, she tries a more honest, "Thank you, anyway."

Shadow whines a little but allows her to dislodge him.

"You need to get out of here, and I need to catch up with the rest of my companions," she says. Her side where she was pressed to Jowan is colder than her magic. "Please stay safe."

Jowan smiles. "You stay safe, too, all right?"

Neria nods, her heart lighter than it has been in ages. 


	2. Reflecting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the way back to Redcliffe after the Urn of Sacred Ashes quest, this time to make sure Jowan gets out of there for good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on [Reflection](https://mostlyandersbutttbh.tumblr.com/post/615960197296439296), the pendant you get in the Urn of Sacred Ashes quest (title drop!) // [and the Guardian's dialog](https://mostlyandersbutttbh.tumblr.com/post/615960739670294528/the-gauntlet-meeting-jowan). I took some liberties because ~~I didn't read the item description thoroughly~~ I had Plans. Neria wears the pendant facedown because she hates the Chantry ~~and because I didn't want to revise when I realized the front was supposed to be a Chantry symbol~~.

"How are you handling everything?" Alistair asks. The walk down the mountain was long, and worse for all the frozen cultist corpses.

Neria stops fidgeting with the necklace that the Guardian-Jowan gave her. "Do you think it was real?" If she holds the necklace just right in the firelight, she can see Jowan reflected back. He looks happy. No grime, no dungeon-skittish sadness in his eyes, just the smile he used to have before they worried so much about his Harrowing.

Alistair's face freezes in polite confusion. "Well... you have physical proof that we were in there."

Neria huffs. "Not that part. All the... stuff the Guardian said. Do you think..." the name sticks in her throat, the dread of what Eamon will do with Jowan, if she can save either of them. Maybe she should just ask Zevran to sneak under the windmill and free Jowan. Her experience so far suggests Jowan will turn himself in again, even if she can pull it off. "Do you think he forgives me?" The words are so small, she worries Alistair didn't hear them.

"You never gave me the full story on what happened at the Circle," Alistair hedges. "It didn't sound like you were in the wrong. And in my experience, you take on too much responsibility for the actions of others." He sighs and she knows immediately she isn't going to like what he says next and he knows it, too. "He's a maleficar, and from what I've gleaned, I don't know what you could possibly need forgiveness for, aside from letting him out of the dungeon, but even then, he came back. That doesn't strike me as the action of a man holding a grudge." 

"We were both locked in a dungeon our entire lives, I wasn't going to leave him in another. Isolde had him tortured, Alistair." She looks up for emphasis and holds Alistair's gaze until he awkwardly looks away. "Irving wasn't going to give him a Harrowing. He _never_ planned to. Jowan wasn't even going to get the chance to _try_ ," Neria starts.

"You know I hate the Harrowing," Alistair starts, "I wouldn't wish that on anyone, _but—_ "

"Don't," Neria says.

"—he's a blood mage, he had to have learned that from somewhere."

"Maybe it was Uldred!" Neria protests. "You saw the notes, here," she digs her journal out, flipping pages until she finds the correspondence between enchanters. "Irving _planted_ books on blood magic, even _Greagoir_ thought that was crossing a line, and before Uldred's coup..." she waves a hand.

"'Coup' is such a frilly Orlesian word for turning himself into a horrifying abomination monstrosity," Alistair comments, not unkindly.

Neria snorts as she fumbles the journal, showing Alistair the passage. He glances over obligingly, even though she already told him the gist of it earlier. "Uldred was tempting random apprentices on purpose." Uldred would have turned Jowan over to Irving, she is sure. He would have thought Jowan weak, just like Irving, which means he wouldn't have risked real secrets on a throwaway apprentice who was going to be made Tranquil. She doesn't share this thought or her conversation with Jowan with Alistair.

"Maybe," Alistair allows, but he doesn't sound very convinced. He sighs again, scrubbing a hand down his face. "If he doesn't have the good sense to despise Loghain, I don't think he's going to hold a grudge against you for... sorry, what exactly are you blaming yourself for, here?"

"I couldn't save him." She doesn't know how to put into words a lifetime of guilt. Maybe she could have tutored him more or pretended to be more distant to keep him safe from Irving. Maybe she could have fled with him, let Duncan save someone else from the tower and kept Jowan safe from Isolde. Maybe she could have confronted Irving about making Jowan Tranquil instead of just politely asking about it, or maybe she could have just taken a different route or insisted on waiting and planning better, rather than helping Jowan escape while she was still lyrium addled and sleep deprived. Maybe if Neria hadn't been such a coward, Jowan never would have even fallen for Lily, and she could have been safe, too. "He's my best friend. He's all I had before the Wardens, and I can't—"

Neria drops the whole journal haphazardly back into her bag, hugging her knees so she can hide her face. Everything is so big these days; she didn't think she would miss the close walls of the Circle, but sometimes it's hard to think with so much sky over her all the time. The woods go on forever in every direction, it seems.

"I can't let Eamon kill him," she insists.

"Bann Teagan said he could go back to the Circle," Alistair offers.

The panic rushes through Neria so suddenly she feels lightheaded. She snaps her head up to glare at him. "No, absolutely not, no, do you know what they'll do to him?"

Alistair puts his hands up in surrender. "Teagan didn't seem to think there were a lot of options."

"They'll give him the brand. They'll take _everything_ from him. I might as well kill him myself." She had enough nightmares about that back at the Circle. 

Alistair looks stricken at that.

"Even if they didn't... It's horrible there. Wynne liked it, but she was always luckier than most with how well the Circle agreed with her. I don't know how she stands Irving. He's manipulative, conniving, and horrible. The apprentices are just pawns to him." The Circle already took Daylen and Lily, and it tried to take Neria, too. There's no one left for Jowan. 

"I thought you got along with Irving? Everyone said you were his favorite. He seemed very proud of you."

"Until I disobeyed him, anyway. He _has_ to seem proud now. The Wardens are important. If Duncan hadn't shown up I would be dead or in Aeonar." Neria takes a level breath, trying to keep her voice even. "I tried to talk to Irving, you know. Jowan's girlfriend, Lily, was a Chantry sister. She found out Jowan wasn't going to get a Harrowing. I thought I could ask Irving to make sure he got the opportunity, at least, because I thought _he cares_ , despite everything the Circle does to people, all the hard choices he has to make as First Enchanter, he cares _,_ and he said it's too late for Jowan, the least we can do is try to take down one of Greagoir's, too.

"Irving knew about Jowan and Lily the whole time. He just wanted to wait until they did something so he could catch her in the act and lord it over Greagoir. He wanted to send her to Aeonar just to make an example of her since she was technically _Greagoir's_ responsibility, and what a rare opportunity it is for a mage to catch a Chantry sister breaking the law.

"Jowan didn't use blood magic until Greagoir threatened Lily with Aeonar, and _that's_ how I found out." 

Alistair waits a moment before responding, which makes Neria suddenly self-conscious about how long she has been talking. "All that was the day Duncan brought you back?"

"It was a really long day," Neria agrees. "My Harrowing was the night before, which is why Jowan was so worried about the urgency. He's a year older and he was at the Circle a year longer than me." It wouldn't have made him the oldest Harrowing on record, of course, even excluding apostates captured in adulthood, but they both worried for a long while that he might not get one. 

"Maker's breath, you were Harrowed the night before? What happened to the Chantry sister?"

"Aeonar, I assume. As soon as Jowan used blood magic, Lily disavowed him, claimed all mages were a danger, and said she accepted whatever punishment was coming to her. There is no way Irving and Greagoir wouldn't follow through." She bites her lip, considering before admitting the next part. "I never asked."

"Hardly her fault." Alistair's disgust for Irving is plain on his face, but Neria feels every bit of it for herself. 

"Jowan isn't a bad person," Neria says. "He made a mistake. He came back to fix it. He helped with Connor even after I told him to make a run for it."

Alistair gives her a lopsided smile. "And then he offered a blood magic solution for Connor that involved a ritual sacrifice."

Neria hugs her knees tighter and doesn't add that the only reason she didn't take him up on it was for Jowan and Connor's sake. "There was a live demon in the house, and the Circle was a full day's ride away. We're lucky the demon didn't try to harm anyone else while we fetched the mages." If the ritual had kept Connor out of the Circle, she would have taken Jowan's offer. With the assurance from Isolde that Eamon would turn their own son over, though, it was too much of a risk to involve any blood magic. Every templar would be on high alert for months to come, Connor would be lucky to make it through the year with his story as it is, and Neria doubts she could convince Eamon even with the Right of Conscription if she let Jowan kill his wife. 

"Thank you for being here," Neria says at last. "For talking to me about it. He's the only family I have outside of this." She gestures at the camp, at Alistair.

"Of course," Alistair says softly.


	3. Eamon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Right of Conscription. Neria has complicated feelings about Wynne.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I read that one reason Jowan was scrapped as a companion early in development for dao was because there was no way to conscript him since it's such a big deal that Alistair and the Warden don't know how to conduct the Joining. To be clear, I don't think Wynne knows the whole ritual or that one of the ingredients is archdemon blood, and it's entirely possible that this method should have a lower success rate or other drawbacks, but fuck it, it's my fanfic and I do what I want. 
> 
> Also! Aiming for Tuesday/Saturday for updates and will add one or two chapters per update (depending on length and like what works best). I originally had like 16ish documents on my end, but I realized a lot of those were too long or would make more sense as two chapters! I'm not used to doing chaptered fic lol so please forgive me if the flow isn't perfect.

Neria spends a good portion of her next morning mentally rehearsing her discussion with Wynne. Wynne told her with affection that _you can take a mage out of the Circle, but you can't take the Circle out of the mage_ , and Neria worries that might be true as she reviews how best to approach the subject. She doesn't even consider honesty an option here, not with Wynne's devout hatred of blood magic. 

Wynne will _not_ agree to conscripting Jowan. It will be easier if Neria frees Jowan and then worries about the semantics; it is integral to find out if Conscription is even an option first.

Maybe she should ask Leliana to help; Leliana loves advocating for second chances and forgiveness, and Wynne loves the Chantry.

Neria grabs her bag when everyone else is ready, lagging behind to keep pace with Wynne and put some distance between them and the rest of the party. "You know, when you first joined us, you said something that struck me as odd," Neria starts.

"I say a great many things," Wynne agrees, "some of them odd, I've been told."

"You congratulated me on surviving my Joining," Neria observes. "I thought the Joining was a Warden secret? Duncan mentioned he had to ask some mages to help prepare the chalice, though, so it occurred to me: you were at Ostagar, and Alistair and I don't know how to perform the Joining ritual, but you might."

"It's a very complex ritual and would take quite a while to teach, and some of the reagents are quite rare. Of course, as you stated, it also requires a mage, so perhaps Duncan meant to wait for you to pass the Joining before he taught the new recruits." Wynne admits. "To answer your question, I have been privy to a few more secrets than most, even a few Warden secrets."

"I don't expect we will be able to rebuild the Ferelden Wardens over night," Neria qualifies. "I was wondering if... well, if the situation called for it, perhaps in case of emergency, could we save someone with a Joining?"

"It's often a bit riskier if they have already been tainted due to the time constraints, but perhaps," Wynne allows. "I confess I don't know all of the ingredients, but Duncan told me I could substitute some of the remaining ones in an emergency. Do you still have the locket from your Joining? There should be a tradition..."

Neria fishes the locket with the drop of Joining mixture from her bag. "I've never opened it," she admits.

"Good. With this, I could prepare one dose in an emergency, though I recommend our companions keep their distance from any darkspawn blood or tainted lands or animals, as much as possible."

Neria's heart feels lighter. "Thank you, Wynne, I'm relieved to hear it. I hope it's not needed, but I'm relieved to hear the option is available."

"Of course," Wynne agrees. "You do your mentors proud with your thoughtfulness."

-x-

"Release him into my custody," Neria suggests.

"That I cannot do," Eamon says.

Neria shifts her weight, folding her arms. "I freed him already, but he returned solely to solve a problem your wife created."

"Neria," Alistair murmurs in a warning tone.

She presses on, "He advocated to save your son's life when the Circle would have executed Connor, regardless of his age or his intentions. Jowan killed the demon in Connor himself. He _wants_ to atone, and he can do that by helping me end the Blight."

"He is a maleficar," Eamon insists. "I cannot in good conscience allow it."

He can somehow allow a great many things in good conscience, she thinks, but Alistair at her elbow keeps the words behind her teeth. Throwing accusations will not change his mind. In desperation, she thinks, _What would Irving do?_

To her left, Jowan gives her the same look as the Guardian had, that peaceful forgiveness. She reaches up to his mirror in her necklace, holding on since she can't cross the room to him. It will _not_ end like this. "Then don't consider this a mercy. Loghain already sent an assassin after me. Between Loghain's promotion to Regent and the archdemon, it's not likely any of us will live through this. Jowan can and will put himself between me and any danger." Not that she intended to let him, of course.

"You would trust a maleficar?" Eamon demands.

"You discredit his loyalty to me; were our positions reversed, he would do the same. The Wardens are a death sentence at the best of times, and I can think of nothing more dangerous than fighting Loghain. The Circle cannot spare any mages right now, and I need anyone willing to lay down their life for Ferelden, regardless of what they have done."

Eamon frowns, considering again. He seems to be wavering but steels himself. "Nonetheless, I must insist. He is a danger to himself and everyone around him."

Neria holds his gaze for a moment. "Then, it doesn't have to be your decision. I'm invoking the Right of Conscription."

Alistair says nothing, his authority behind hers in deference, but she can tell by his expression that she is in for a Discussion later, when he gets a moment.

Neria waits as Eamon composes himself. Leliana and Zevran will be more than sympathetic to Jowan's desire for redemption, but she is not sure Wynne or Alistair will back her if she has to go further than this in her persuasion. She _will_ accept Eamon's offer to execute Jowan herself if she has to, and she _will_ use the opportunity to free Jowan against her promise and flee. She is relatively certain that Eamon will not withdraw his support and entirely certain he won't turn against her to side with Loghain; as Isolde told them before, he is too honorable and will put the needs of Ferelden ahead of his own feelings. 

Eamon sighs. "If you are sure, then there is little I can do to stop you."

"I am."

Eamon's expression is more eyebrows than anything due to his great beard, but even without a lifetime of deciphering Irving's expression, Neria would be able to read his scowl. He waves a hand, and his guards step back from Jowan. Jowan glances nervously between Neria and Eamon, taking a hesitant step forward. Neria does not draw her staff, but she keeps her attention half in the Fade just in case Eamon or one of his guards decides to make a move. 

Neria waits for Jowan to close the distance between them, placing herself between Jowan and Eamon. It's probably best not to cast any spells in here, even a healing spell, but it is difficult to resist when she sees the greenish hue of an old bruise at Jowan's wrist. She nods to Jowan, professional as ever as Alistair leads them out. Neria ignores Wynne's glare, Alistair's concern, and Zevran's intrigued smirk. 

Jowan opens his mouth to say something, but seems to think better of it until they are outside. He blinks at the sunlight, holding up a hand to shield his eyes for a long moment that shows off the bruises on his forearm and makes Neria want to turn around and set the keep on fire, makes her want to half carry him down the stairs, as far away, as fast as possible before Eamon can change his mind. Neria takes the time to summon a bit of healing magic for Jowan. "Thank you," Jowan says. "Not for the healing—I mean, _also_ for the healing, obviously—" he fumbles, finally blinking the sun out of his eyes enough to safely traverse the stairs. 

"You're welcome," Neria offers. Every step away from Eamon feels heavier than the last. The silverite on her shoulders is crafted to be light for her to move in easily, yet she feels every ounce as a ton. She can still recall the choking sound Daveth made when the taint overtook him. 

Maybe she should have tried to make a deal with Mouse before she left the Circle. The Veil was thin enough, and he seemed content to linger in the Fade nearby. Whatever Mouse wants can't be much worse than definitely dying in 30 years or less, haunted by nightmares and scrabbling darkspawn, losing Jowan to the Joining. 

She can't let him go without a Joining, either—if he is recognized anywhere without her he will be killed on sight. At least if he is recognized at her side, she can keep him safe. As a Warden, he can flee to other Wardens, his blood enough proof to give him refuge, even if something happens to Neria. 

"Am I going to cause problems for you?" he asks in a small voice, cowed by Alistair's suspicious glare. 

"No more than I will cause for you," Neria replies. "Did they feed you at all?"

"I ate," Jowan says. He still feels lean, his bones more prominent under her gaze.

She fishes an apple out of her bag. "Get your strength up."

"Why would you save me?" Jowan asks softly, keeping pace with Neria. He pitches his voice low, like sharing a secret. "Not that I'm not grateful—I mean, _thank you—_ but I wouldn't have held it against you if you let them... you know." 

Neria can probably name a thousand times she missed Jowan in the last few months—passing through the ruined Circle kitchens and remembering Jowan pocketing some of the butter cookies for her; her first look through Ostagar as a free Warden, not confined to the mage camp with Wynne and Uldred; watching Morrigan transform into a giant spider for the first time and _knowing_ it would have delighted and terrified Jowan—but she settles on the short answer. "Jowan, you're still my best friend."

"I.... oh. After everything?"

"Always." 

Jowan averts his gaze, so Neria looks away, too, only to find Zevran approaching from Jowan's other side. 

"Did you try to kill her, too?" Zevran asks.

"'Too'? No, I've never... did _you_ try to kill her?" Jowan leans closer to Neria, hissing, "Did he try to kill you?"

"He was hired by Loghain, too," Neria explains. "He's an Antivan Crow."

" _He's_ the assassin?"

"Not to worry, I fight for the Warden now," Zevran assures him with a wink. 

Jowan follows her out of the arling and toward the countryside where the rest of her companions keep watch over their latest camp. It's odd to have him on her left when she is so used to having him on her right, but Alistair walks there now, and Jowan makes do. He awkwardly waves to everyone. Morrigan gives him a considering but not particularly friendly look. Alistair sighs, his eyebrows uncertain. Leliana smiles, waving back.

As soon as Jowan is settled by the campfire, Alistair pulls her away from the rest of the group to say, "We don't even know how to conduct the Joining."

"Wynne does," Neria replies. "I already asked."

Alistair grimaces, glancing toward where Wynne's expression is steeled. "Oh, and how did that go?"

"...I didn't specify I was planning to recruit _Jowan_."

Alistair laughs. "You can explain _that_ to her without my help." 

"Don't worry," Neria says with a half-hearted smile. "I will take full credit for this decision." 

Alistair's smile slips. "I know you're very fond of second chances, but publicly recruiting a _blood mage—_ Loghain _will_ use that against us."

"Then we can use it against him. He's the one who stole Jowan away from the templars in the first place, and the arlessa will want to keep the blood mage rumors quiet. Anyway, who cares about our reputation right now? Loghain is spreading every lie he can, and we have two other murderers with us." She does not relish trying to introduce Jowan to Sten. So far, Sten is maintaining his distance, as he does with all mages except Neria. 

"Assassin," Zevran corrects lightly. "A murderer is someone who does not have the good sense to get paid for what I do."

Alistair puts a hand to his temples while Neria laughs. 


	4. The Joining

No one else is allowed at the Joining; it's just Neria, Alistair, Shadow, and Jowan in the woods, well away from camp. Jowan's first sign that something is wrong is that Neria's expression is the same as it was when she passed Greagoir in the tower: carefully blank and politely passive.

Alistair recites a lot of very serious Warden stuff that Jowan is certain would be very important if he could manage to focus on a word of it. 

"It's going to be fine," Neria says at the end. She has always been an amazing liar, but Jowan can recognize the signs of real fear under her mask. He tries not to let it get under his skin.

"If this goes wrong, it's not your fault," Jowan says. He looks to the mixture of darkspawn blood, which looks black in the dark. It smells absolutely foul. "Eamon was going to have me executed, anyway. I don't blame you. I never blamed you for any of it."

Her expression cracks then, crumpling, her hand coming up to grasp the plain, reflective silver necklace she has taken to wearing. Jowan knocks back a sip of the chalice, and Alistair reaches forward to take the chalice from his hand before his strength deserts him. It definitely _tastes_ like poison. Maker, he hopes Eamon's poisoning wasn't like this. It would be poetic justice, though.

Jowan feels the change in his blood, a burning shift spreading through his chest; it feels different and wrong under his magic. It's agonizing, like the bad-wrong, skin-crawling horror of feeling a blade move under his skin, but the feeling is everywhere. Reflexively, he nearly reaches for his magic, tries to lash out like that will save him, but he sees Neria darting forward to catch him and reigns the impulse in. She already has the soft blue glow of healing magic at her fingertips. It won't fix whatever is happening; he knows that with certainty.

Alistair clanks down to lean over Neria's shoulder while darkness overtakes Jowan's vision. "He'll live." Jowan slips from consciousness before he can hear her response.

To call the nightmare "terrifying" would be drastically understating it. Jowan feels an agony throughout his body, every drop of blood suddenly alive, and not in the way he has come to expect. He can feel a Calling, a tug in his mind toward something, like an itch, like something crawling under his skin, but it goes as quickly as it came. He thinks he hears a song for a second under the marching darkspawn, something patterned in their step and clank, but it vanishes, too, covered by their drums and the beating of their hive-hearts. He can feel the archdemon's roar in his bones, trying to get into his blood. He cannot move; his will is not his own. It's every horror the Circle told him blood magic would be, a thousandfold and wreathed in an incandescent agony.

When Jowan comes to, Shadow is licking his face, his head is in Neria's lap, and her eyes are red-rimmed above him. "Sorry, we don't have another set of Warden armor for you yet."

Alistair holds out a locket. "There's some of the Joining mixture in here. The tradition is to take it with you to remind us of those who didn't make it this far." 

_In death, sacrifice_ , Jowan thinks. He thinks Alistair said that somewhere in all the stuff he was hardly listening to. He is sickeningly glad that at least Neria wasn't among those sacrificed at Ostagar. Jowan accepts it, sitting up. " _Now_ can you tell me what all the secrecy is about?"

Alistair has been uncharacteristically serious about the whole ritual, and he continues that bizarre disconnect as he says, "Many Wardens don't survive the Joining. We only lost one Warden in my Joining, but two were lost in Neria's." 

Neria stands, dusting herself off. She holds out a hand for Jowan. She is stronger now than when she left the Circle most of a year ago. "There are a lot of secrets to being a Warden, but we'll tell you what we know."


	5. Camp

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jowan's here!

Jowan returns Neria's untouched money pouch, explaining that he didn't dare step foot in Redcliffe village for supplies or reprieve. Maker forbid he be recognized.  As a result, he doesn't have a tent or any armor or weapons or anything except his tattered robes when he arrives. "I don't mind sleeping under the stars," he insists. 

Of course, it's an argument that Neria only has to tolerate for about a day before it begins to rain because this is Ferelden, after all, not some sunny Orlesian countryside. She hears the raindrops hitting the oiled canvas over her and wakes up enough to open the tent flap. She sees that Leliana has peeked out, as well, but she offers Neria a soft smile, ducking back inside when she sees that Neria is already reaching for Jowan.

"Get inside, come on, before you're soaking." Neria tugs at his sleeve, not giving him a chance to refuse. Shadow grumbles as Jowan climbs over him to slip inside.

"I can sleep through it," he insists, which is definitely worse. 

Neria conjures a small wisp to light her tent. It makes Jowan blink like it's too bright, so she moves it behind him. "You don't have to."

The road wasn't kind to him; she can tell. Loghain promised to send him back to the Circle and he _accepted_ even knowing what Greagoir would do, even knowing that Irving doesn't care about any of them.

She slept unusually well the night before, able to hear the familiar rhythm of Jowan's breathing just outside her tent, but she finds it suddenly hard to slow her heartbeat and relax with him in such close proximity.

He dries himself off with a quick spell he must have practiced on the road because they certainly don't teach anything that practical in the Circle. Neria offers half of her blanket. Jowan has to move a little closer to her to accept, the wisp staying behind him as he maneuvers to fit along Neria's side, carefully avoiding kicking Shadow.

"Thank you," he says again.

"Of course."

They're awake now, and in the dark it's almost like they're huddled in the apprentice dorms to gossip while the templars patrol. Neria used to climb up to Jowan's bunk above her to chat after hours. It was easier for her to slip down unnoticed than for Jowan to clamber back up without getting caught.

"So, the Urn of Ashes was real, then?" he murmurs. They have a while before they make it to Orzammar; a little over a week's travel if the weather is good, closer to two if they have to stop too often. Neria is thinking of making a detour for a merchant Bodahn mentioned.

"It was amazing."

"Big praise from you," Jowan says, low and close enough to feel the warmth of his breath on her cheek.

Neria keeps her voice low, too, not only to respect their sleeping companions but also to be sure that Leliana can't overhear her blaspheming. "I half-expected Andraste was just Chantry propaganda, not a real person."

Jowan laughs softly at that. "Maker, try saying something like that in the Circle."

"I know! But I remember my mom used to talk about the elvhen gods. Mythal was her favorite."

"That's a pretty name. What's that one a god of?"

"I don't remember," Neria says. "I was hoping to learn about her from the Dalish."

"Did you pick up your pendant on the trip?" Jowan asks, gesturing to the necklace Neria has taken to fidgeting with.

She takes it off, holding it out for Jowan to look at. "A spirit gave it to me. He asked us all about our pasts to see if we were worthy."

"No problem for you, then, I bet," Jowan says with a confidence that warms Neria. He tilts the pendant in the soft blue glow of the wisp's light, examining the simple Chantry emblem with a raised eyebrow, then flipping over to the reflection she spends her nervous moments thumbing. It always reflects Jowan's face for her, but Alistair prefers not to talk about who he sees, so she hasn't pressed. Leliana says she sees herself, confident, though Neria suspects there is something more to it. Zevran and Sten won't even look at it. Morrigan claims it shows nothing for her. Neria half-expects that might be true. "That's odd," Jowan says after a moment. "It shows you even when you're not in the right direction." He hands the necklace back.

Neria accepts it. What is that supposed to mean? Is the reflection more about forgiveness and comfort or guilt? It still shows Jowan when she tilts it, not even his face as it appears right now but specifically Jowan at his happiest. It shifts sometimes, blinks, occasionally moves its mouth like the reflected Jowan is saying something she can't hear. "I think everyone sees something different."

Jowan's eyebrows climb. "Really?" He seems to be waiting for a further elaboration, but Neria has nothing.

What is she supposed to say? How does she explain that the spirit took Jowan's face, Jowan's voice and forgave her? Jowan doesn't need her guilt. She almost feels bad that she's sure this means Jowan feels guilty about her involvement in his escape, but she knew he felt guilty, she didn't need Andraste's holy sidekick to give her magical proof of it. 

Neria is glad that Jowan wasn't at the Temple, that she doesn't have to know what eats at him the most—Lily's fate or leaving Neria in the Circle or his deal, whatever it was. She still wants to know. 

"I missed you," she says instead.

"I missed you, too," Jowan says. His voice is somewhat puzzled. "Did... did something happen at the temple?"

Neria nods. "I don't think anyone is ready to talk about it, though. The spirit asked some very difficult questions of everyone." Wynne had accepted and answered her question with grace and ease, of course. Morrigan had rejected the question entirely; Neria wishes Morrigan had gone first to let the rest of them know that was even an option.

Instead, Neria launches into a description of the cult on her way into the mountain, the high dragon they believed to be Andraste, and the puzzles inside the temple. "I found something for you, actually," she says, rolling over to reach for her bag. She pulls the wisp over to her bag, pulling out Lifedrinker and offering it to Jowan. "It's enchanted."

Jowan accepts the amulet, examining the faded symbol of the Tevinter Chantry on the front of it and the tiny garnets around the edges. He laughs. "You want me to advertise to everyone that I'm a maleficar?"

"You can wear it under your robes. Try it on!"

"Oh," Jowan says, holding up a hand to conjure a wisp to match Neria's. "Oh, you're right. That's quite the enchantment."

Neria watches Jowan's wisp flit around the tent, full of energy. "Can I ask you something?"

"Anything," Jowan offers.

The word lodges in her breastbone like the essence of the Fade, bolstering her in some permanent way. "Does the sky ever feel too big to you?"

Jowan smiles. "It's weird, right? Bodahn said a lot of dwarves feel the same when they see the surface for the first time."

"I suppose we'll do great in the Deep Roads, then," Neria says.

"Hard to be claustrophobic in the Tower," Jowan agrees.

Neria drifts off eventually, her wisp winking out first as she is lulled to sleep by Shadow's snores and Jowan safe at her side.


	6. Honnleath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jowan is still settling in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for some discussions of suicidal ideation.

"You're really going to take me with you to fight darkspawn?" Jowan asks. They had run into stragglers on the road, of course; it was hard not to, this far south, and Neria had made him take a vial of blood for the Joining just a day out of Redcliffe, but that was different from charging into a ruined town teeming with darkspawn.

"You did well at the Circle, and you didn't get eaten on your way back into Redcliffe. You worry too much," Neria assures Jowan as she checks the party formation before she nears Honnleath, or what's left of it, she expects. Wynne holds at the front near Alistair, making no effort to hide her disapproval. Zevran does not lag behind, playful as ever when nearing combat.

"You don't worry enough," Jowan argues, reflexive and familiar.

Neria smiles at him. "Don't worry, there aren't many darkspawn in town. The most important thing is to stay alive." 

"Oh, easy, she says," Jowan complains. Despite his protests, his hands are steadier than they ever were in Kinloch before a test. 

"Just stay behind me, I'll protect you." Neria readies a spell as she feels scouts approaching. "Darkspawn," she announces.

Most of the fight is routine; these are scouts, not threats. She senses a genlock rather than sees it behind her, spinning in time to see Jowan engaged with it, using his staff like a club to beat it back. Frost bursts from Neria's fingertips on instinct, freezing the genlock mid-swipe. His next swing cracks its frozen head off its shoulders.

Jowan huffs for a moment, leaning on his staff. Neria forces her heart rate to settle while she glances over him for visible injury. He seems blood-free, just a little winded as he straightens and asks, "Anyone hurt?" 

Alistair keeps his distance while Zevran cleans his knives. The fight was too short for real injury, and Wynne would have taken care of it already if it hadn't been, but Neria appreciates his thoughtfulness.

"Right," Jowan mutters. "I'll just..."

"That was good," Neria tells him. "When that genlock got close, you knocked it back. If you weren't a Warden, that probably would have saved your life."

"Oh. Wonderful." He looks a little ill, but, again, no worse than the Circle ever made him look.

Neria tries again, "I said I would protect you, and I meant it."

"I won't be a liability," Jowan insists.

"Everyone starts somewhere. I'm sure Alistair has a funny story about tripping over a squad of darkspawn when he was training," she says. Alistair always knows how to dismantle her fears with a timely anecdote, but he has been somewhat disinclined to make the same outreach for Jowan, fellow Grey Warden or no.

"Right," Jowan agrees, his smile somewhat apprehensive. "What about you?"

Neria realizes her mistake as soon as he asks. "Well, the first real combat I faced without you was in Ostagar, so that's not really a typical example."

"Sorry," Jowan fumbles. "Sorry, I didn't mean to bring up—"

"It's not your fault," Neria assures him. Ostagar was bad, to put it lightly, but the loss doesn't hang over her the same way it does for Alistair. She woke up to hear another apprentice had been led to the slaughter in the night regularly in the Circle. She has learned well enough to guard herself against grief for strangers and acquaintances, though not as well as she hoped. She still feels bad about Duncan, even aside from her sympathetic grief for Alistair's loss. Daveth, too, sometimes. "I have one story. When we were gathering darkspawn blood for the Joining, one of the other Warden recruits startled me in the Korcari Wilds. I nearly set him on fire." Alistair tells the story better, she thinks, but Jowan's mouth still quirks into an uncertain smile.

"How did he take it?"

"Surprisingly well," Neria admits. Daveth had been amiable like that. If it had been Ser Jory, she's sure there would have been a fight. "He dodged, so it was all right. His fault for being so sneaky, he said."

Jowan's laugh is somewhat nervous. "So, I just have to make sure not to startle you, either."

"You can't," Neria assures. "You're a Warden, too. I know where you are. You'll be able to sense other Wardens, too, eventually. Probably in a month or two." The rhythm she feels from Jowan is just a bit more frantic than from Alistair or the darkspawn, making it easy to pick him out, even though he's still faint and new in the back of her senses.

"Along with darkspawn," Jowan says, expression shifting to something more grim.

"Along with darkspawn," Neria agrees.

"The nightmares don't go away, do they?"

Neria shakes her head.

Jowan opens his mouth like he has something else to say, but then Alistair calls from the front, "More incoming," and the moment is lost. Neria glances to him one more time before rejoining the group, but he looks serious once more. His hesitance is gone, like it was after the first fight in the tower basement.

-x-

Neria insisted on checking on him after the first few encounters, but Jowan finds that if he flashes her a smile after, she keeps going. He almost feels genuine about it by the time Neria leads them back to the clearing in the center of Honnleath with the golem.

She steps forward, drawing the control rod. Jowan checks her companions for their reactions. Is this normal? Is this who she is now? She looks very regal, sun glinting off the silverite studs in her armor. A proper Grey Warden hero. Too many of the Grey Warden stories end in tragedy. Too many stories about mages do, too.

"You're sure about this?" Alistair asks.

Neria replies, "We already took in two murderers."

"Three," Alistair corrects. Technically, Jowan failed at killing Eamon, but he doesn't blame Alistair for counting him anyway.

Jowan looks to Wynne for guidance because no matter how angry or disgusted she is, she can't _not_ give advice. "This does seem unwise," Wynne agrees. "Ready yourself for combat."

The problem is, Jowan recognizes the look on Neria's face as she speaks the wake word. A few things click into place at once: the way Neria ran headfirst into the darkspawn ahead of Alistair as she threw down ice spells to immobilize the largest threats, how she stood up to Arl Eamon heedless of consequences, the way she gets nearly within arm's reach and doesn't flinch as the golem wakes.

After introductions have been made (with _no_ bloodshed, thankfully), Jowan pushes between Neria's friends to grab her arm, sparing a wary glance at the golem. "When we get back to camp, could I speak to you about something? In private." 

"Of course. We aren't far."

Jowan slips to the side to keep pace with Zevran on the way out of town. "Why did Neria agree to... er, travel with you after you were hired to assassinate her?"

"I was sold to the Crows as a child. The only way out is death or finding someone strong enough to keep them at bay. She is strong enough, and she found my story and my talents worth the risk," Zevran summarizes with an easy smile. "Do you fear I will hurt your friend?"

"N-no, sorry," Jowan corrects. "She seems to trust you now, I just wondered about... how that came to be."

"Of course," Zevran agrees. His smile seems as practiced as Neria's, Jowan notes. "Perhaps my good looks, charm, and talents in bed? Surely a man such as yourself can understand the desire to take a second chance when it is offered."

"Er, yes, I do." He's probably on much more than his second chance with Neria, if he's honest, but starting that conversation is a good way to get sidetracked. Jowan doesn't know how to ask the next question. _Did she seem like she_ cared _if you tried to kill her again?_ "Was she not concerned, er, at least when you first met?"

Zevran's easy smile grows wider, though hardly friendlier. "She is a sensible woman. I am sure she slept with an extra knife under her pillow. Ah, but you are so vague... Perhaps you would be better off asking me what it is you mean to ask."

Jowan's mouth opens, but his words fail him. "Sorry, I didn't mean to offend, I just... I should just ask her myself, I think."

Zevran nods. "A good answer."

Of course, Jowan can't really keep his mouth shut, so he asks anyway, before Zevran can wander off, "Do you ever worry about her?"

Zevran raises an eyebrow, but his smile remains. "Worry is perhaps the wrong word for it. I worry for her as much as for myself, but such are the hazards of the lives we have chosen."

Right. Not much of a worrier; Jowan doesn't know what he expected. Of course Neria would find every person in Ferelden who lacked a self-preservation instinct as much as she did.

Jowan recognized the dead-eyed stare Neria gave the golem, is the thing, familiar from every time the news came back about a failed Harrowing, a missing apprentice, rumors that someone had been sent to another Circle later disproved or contested by rumors of suicide. It was an expression she carried for months after Daylen was sent off. 

(Or was killed, like Neria always argued. The templars claimed he was sent to the Free Marches, even though he had— _has_ several siblings out there. _A mage died, either way,_ Neria insisted, as close to a concession as she was capable of offering.)

She stood in sunny Honnleath, cleaned up and free of darkspawn, sparkling like a hero who should be riding off into the sunset on the back of a griffon, with the same expression, the same look in her eyes she used to get in lessons on the rooftop, peering over the edge of the tower to the lake below; it was less a hopelessness, more a resigned question. Not an _if,_ but a _when?_

Jowan thought that look would have stayed at Kinloch, but here it is. She covers it well, he notices on the way back to camp.

Neria takes the time to welcome Shale to camp before she seeks out Jowan. "You did really well back there. Honnleath appreciated you, especially the healing."

"You think so? I-I mean," Jowan fumbles. Her praise is warming. "It felt nice to help out for once."

She smiles at him. "What did you need? Is something wrong?"

"Right. Sorry if this is a bit direct, but are _you_ all right?" Jowan counters. "You didn't seem very bothered by the fact that Shale killed the last mage with its control rod."

Neria allows herself a small laugh. "Didn't you hear about Sten and Zevran's recruitment?"

"No, that's exactly my point," Jowan starts, the concern in his voice rising. He spent the last hour trying to compose the right way to ask the question, but it stumbles out before he can fit the words in their practiced order, "Do you have a death wish? You ran into the center of the darkspawn several times, you recruited two people and a golem that seemed very likely to kill you at the first opportunity—I just, I want you to look after yourself."

Neria's smile flattens. She reaches up to thumb the reflection in her pendant and says, "You told me, 'It makes me happy, knowing you will be the mage I never could,'" which is impossible, because Jowan has _never_ said those words aloud to her, though he thought them often enough in Eamon's dungeon, wishing he could have sent her off with at least that small comfort before she left for Haven.

"How did you—"

"You thought you were going to die in Redcliffe," she accuses, angrier with him than she has ever been. "You went _back_ because you thought your death would mean more than your life, so I don't think you—" She cuts herself off before her voice climbs any higher, checking that everyone else in camp is still not paying them any attention before she steps closer and lowers her voice to continue, "You were supposed to be _safe_. You weren't supposed to go _back_."

"I'm sorry," Jowan fumbles. "I'm sorry, I just wanted to make up for what I did, I wasn't _trying_ to die, I just thought..." What? That he deserved whatever Eamon had in store for him? He doesn't want to make Neria more upset. He messed up in Redcliffe. _Royally_. He planned to face the consequences for it—whatever those happened to be. "I was tired of running from my mistakes. Do you think your death will mean more than your life?"

"No," Neria scoffs. "I just don't think I'm likely to live very long."

Jowan feels the air leave Thedas in one massive rush, like the vacuum left by a fireball. "I'm so sorry. This is my fault. You wouldn't have had to leave the Circle or join the Wardens if I hadn't—"

"No," Neria cuts. She seems to have cried herself out in Redcliffe, and there are too many witnesses here for her to share tears, but her breath is shaky as she says, "No, you saved my life. I didn't want to be in the Circle, I hated it there. I _hated_ it. You didn't do this to me, Irving did. I didn't—" she takes a breath to calm herself, "I didn't think I would make it out of the Circle."

"And now you'll have nightmares about darkspawn the rest of your life." Well, what little life she would have, anyway, before the Calling. 

She shrugs. "It's a trade off. I don't have nightmares about templars as often, and I haven't seen many demons in the Fade since I left the tower."

"Really?"

"Didn't your dreams change when you left?" She asks, tilting her head.

"I stopped seeing them before that," Jowan admits, hoping to Andraste she understands, because private conversation or no, he really doesn't want to discuss his deal in the daylight where her companions might overhear.

She stares at him for a moment, waiting for a continuation of his thought before her eyebrows begin to rise in understanding. "I'm sorry Conscription brought the nightmares back, then."

"Don't be. I still had nightmares, just no demons in them. I'm sorry I wasn't there when you were conscripted."

"I'm not," Neria insists. "None of the other Wardens made it out of Ostagar."


	7. Orzammar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Still settling in. Jowan isn't quite getting the hang of Neria's friends yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHOOPS. posted the wrong chapter this afternoon and got them out of order. fixed now! 
> 
> There's literally no canon evidence that the clothes in the dragon age universe are ever enchanted to self-repair or self-clean, it's really just me reconciling story and video game mechanics (taking constant injury and bleeding all over everything and wearing the same set of cloth armor for ages). Also, Wynne has a banter with the dog where you can say, "why don't you just magic the dog clean," and she says, "you know that's not what magic is used for." This could just be ambiguous phrasing to mean "magic can't do that," but I'm choosing to interpret it as "magic _can_ do that, but the Chantry says that base or personal uses of magic do not serve mankind like training a magical military for the Chantry serves mankind." Jowan, already a blood mage: "Ah, well, in for a silver, in for a sovereign." *learns every household magic he can squeeze out of Morrigan*

Jowan's Circle robes, only holding together through the power of the mild self-repair enchantment on them, aren't really built for extreme weather, so he has to borrow a cloak from Alistair for the hike up the Frostback Mountains. Neria sent a courier to a Soldier's Peak for some Warden armor to match hers, but the courier hasn't yet returned.

He spends a moment after the fight outside the gates trying to magic the blood out of the cloak; it's not enchanted like his Circle robes, and he does not want to encourage Alistair to have any more reason to dislike him. Neria approaches him, tugging her hood back up to keep her ears warm. It looks like her cloak was hastily hemmed to keep her from tripping over the bottom of it, which means Neria probably did it herself, because Wynne would never leave a seam that sloppy.

"What are you casting?" Neria asks. She tries to imitate the flick of his wrist, just the motion, aiming at the snow.

"Morrigan taught me this. It's _forbidden_ magic," he teases. He demonstrates the wrist flick again, better illustrating the sigil he means to outline, and adds, "you sort of have draw away the dirt and blood and cast in back into the Fade." Not too different from the sigil at the end of most fire spells to cast the smoke back into the Fade.

Neria tries the motion again, cleaning the snow off a small plant peeking through the ground. Flawless, as ever, Jowan thinks with a mix of pride and envy. "Like this?"

Alistair appears at her side. "Forbidden magic?" he repeats with suspicion. "From _Morrigan_?"

Jowan mentally curses. Right, so much for trying not to upset Alistair, then.

Neria grins, casting the spell on Alistair's cloak, which causes him to jump, looking down at himself for damage or fire or something else. "Cleaning magic," she explains. "They don't teach that in the Circle, you know."

Alistair's suspicious expression is replaced entirely by bafflement. "Why not?"

"'Magic is meant to serve man, not to rule over him,'" Neria says imperiously. "So we're not supposed to use it for personal gain. Only for the good of the Chantry."

"Hold on," Alistair repeats, clearly struggling to wrap his head around the austerity politics of the Chantry, even though Jowan is pretty sure Neria told him Alistair was also a Chantry orphan, "Is _that_ why Morrigan never gets muddy? That's downright un-Ferelden, that is."

Neria snickers. "Did you think she just didn't help in battle?"

"Well," Alistair says indignantly, waving a hand at Neria to encompass her spotless attire. "I mean, sometimes you get a little more on you because _you_ like to run in, but this isn't unusual. It's one reason I lent Jowan a cloak." He scowls at Jowan, because the main reason he lent Jowan a cloak was probably Neria, and there's likely more blood somewhere Jowan can't see. Well, that or Alistair might just be one of those people who never warms up to Jowan. Hard to tell this early. 

Neria casts the spell again at a place near Jowan's left elbow. She paces around him, casting the spell as needed to remove blood before finally reappearing in front of him to adjust the front of his cloak. Jowan can feel his cheeks grow warmer at the direct attention, hoping that everyone dismisses it as a result of the cold. She reaches up to thumb his cheek, her Warden gloves coming away with a little spot of blood the self-cleaning enchantment will take care of.

"Er, thank you," Jowan says.

"Sorry." Neria steps back hastily, nearly tripping over Shadow, who has decided to live up to his name. "Not in the Circle anymore."

"It's fine," Jowan assures her. "I don't mind." He misses the closeness they had in the Circle, before he started dating Lily, before Daylen was sent away.

"Is it finished?" Shale asks, disrupting Jowan's trail of thought.

Neria clears her throat. "Yes. Do you want us to clean the blood off you, too?"

Shale tilts its head. "It would not be unwelcome."

Jowan approaches, relieved when Shale does not draw away like Alistair or Sten or Wynne.

-x-

Neria holds her expression steady as Loghain's messenger raises his voice, "Grey Wardens? You mean traitors." Jowan controls a flinch.

"Surfacer politics aren't our business," the Orzammar guard dismisses with a sigh. "That is a royal seal. Warden, you're free to pass."

"No! In the name of King Loghain, I demand that you execute this... stain on the honor of Ferelden!"

Neria lowers her hood, turning to face the man, the motion opening her cloak enough to show off the blue and silverite of her Warden armor. "Run back to your false king and tell him thank you for the Crow."

"You—!" The messenger recoils as if slapped. His eyes flicker to her staff, then to Jowan's. "Loghain will hear of this!"

"Best make it quick," Neria assures him. "I already took care of your men out front." As the group begins to turn, Neria nods to the Circle mage over the man's shoulder. "Haven't you heard about the business with Uldred?"

The mage pauses while the messenger's party continues moving, apparently not yet noticing that one of their number has stopped. "Uldred? The Libertarian?" the mage says, eyes wide at the direct attention. He was Harrowed a few years ago, too important for Jowan or Neria back then, so Jowan doesn't remember his name. "What business?"

Neria's expression softens into an exaggerated sadness; her eyes are too wide and her lower lip too pouty for it to be genuine by her usual reserved standards, though the expression is usually pretty effective on people who don't know her. "Marius, right? Perhaps you should see about returning to Kinloch to hear the news. Greagoir would have my head for talking about Circle business in public. Tell the First Enchanter that Senior Enchanter Wynne and I send our regards." Each name she drops seems to shake Marius; without alerting his companions, Neria has managed to tell him the mages have sided with the Wardens, and Wynne's involvement means it's not just politics. Her name carries as much weight as Irving or Greagoir's to most mages and more with apprentices and healers.

" _Senior Enchanter_ Wynne is traveling with the Wardens? Y-yes," Marius agrees, glancing to his companions with sudden suspicion. "Of course. Er... Neria Surana, yes? And the er... other mage, does he need a message delivered, as well?" He glances at Jowan, eyes widening in recognition, but he seems to decide it is best not to comment when Neria's eyes narrow.

"He's a Grey Warden, not a Circle mage," Neria corrects. Jowan feels the force of her glare as a warmth around him. 

Marius scrunches his brows in apparent disagreement but seems to think better of it at Neria's expression. "Of course. Warden Neria Surana and Senior Enchanter Wynne," he repeats, nodding.

"Yes." Neria smiles. "Thank you."

Loghain's messenger huffs in impotent rage at the delay, gesturing a demand for his associates to follow. Neria gives them a small wave. Marius waves uncertainly back.

"Well, that was easy," Alistair comments.

"Disappointing," Shale says.

Neria relaxes as she faces the Orzammar guard, but Jowan doesn't. He marvels at her openly for a moment.

"Can't thank you enough for getting him off our doorstep, Warden," the guard says, waving for the doors to open.

"Feel free to send for me if he returns," Neria says, entering Orzammar.

She takes a few steps into the warm, glowing halls of Orzammar, stopping when the gates close behind her. She kneels beside Shadow. "You want me to dry your paws?" she asks. 

Shadow lifts a paw like he wants to shake. She uses the cleaning spell to clear the snow and mud from his paws one by one. She murmurs affectionate nonsense as she works.

"She's going to do this every time we go anywhere from now on, isn't she?" Alistair mutters.

A warm bubble of affection threatens to overwhelm Jowan. "Yeah," he agrees.

Alistair raises his voice to address Shadow. "You are so spoiled."

Shadow ignores Alistair, his nose in the air.


	8. Wynne Finds Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a chapter about how sexy the Grey Warden uniforms are.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The notes Wynne refers to are the same ones brought up in chapter 2, the codex entries for Uldred tempting mages to blood magic, then turning some "weaker" ones over to Irving and Irving's blood magic books, left in the library to tempt apprentices. Also, this particular Warden has a lot more friction with Wynne than most of my Wardens! It was a little harder to write in places because I don't want to be unkind or unfair, but Neria honestly just doesn't have all the deets about Wynne (e.g., this is before Neria finds out about the spirit, and afaik, Wynne only directly speaks to Alistair in a banter about her son, not the Warden). 
> 
> ETA: Initially posted out of order, so make sure you didn't miss the previous chapter, which was supposed to come first and which I've inserted behind this one.

Bodahn's courier to Levi Dryden asking for spare Warden armor doesn't return until Neria comes back from her foray into Orzammar, ready to organize a group for her first trip into the Deep Roads. Jowan accepts the package when she hands it off to him. "Sometimes the enchantment takes a bit to set in, especially with older gear, so give it about 30 minutes," she tells him. Wynne waves to her from across the camp. "I'll be back." 

"Right, I'll just..." Jowan jerks a thumb toward his tent. "Thank you."

"Of course," Neria assures him as she begins to step away. "You're a Warden now. You have to look the part." 

Jowan's tent is as far from Wynne's and Alistair's tents as he can manage, past Zevran's usual set up and a little out of the way, closer to the outskirts of camp where Shadow likes to patrol and play. Neria will feel much better knowing that Jowan has _some_ layer of protection between himself and any weapons thicker than the apprentice robes. She sold hers to the first merchant who would take them. Wynne, of course, still wears Circle robes, though hers are better enchanted for combat, at least. 

Wynne takes a moment to insist on exchanging pleasantries before she begins, "I appreciate your candor concerning the notes you found in the Circle about Irving and Uldred. I sent a letter to Irving concerning the matter. I know you have your differences, dear, but he really is proud of you." 

Neria feels a rush of gratitude and pride and revulsion. "I am glad to hear it," she lies. More than that, she is glad to hear that her discussion with Wynne outside of Kinloch left an impression. Neria doubts Wynne will change her mind about the Circle, but she could afford to be more wary of Irving, at least. 

"The situation with Jowan is difficult, and I do not fault you for your mercy. Further, I do not agree with Irving's methods in this situation. However, Irving did explain what evidence Greagoir had of Jowan's blood magic." 

"I don't want to know," Neria preempts. Irving mentioned a witness, she recalls. Probably Uldred or one of his followers, and most likely dead now. 

Wynne scowls. "My dear, you can hardly afford ignorance in this. Everyone looks to you for guidance. You have a responsibility to keep in mind the safety of the rest of your companions."

"I know," Neria says. "And I know more of Jowan's situation than I am willing to share. He isn't a danger to the group." Jowan still hasn't told her the specifics of his deal or how much blood magic he knows, and she doesn't plan to force the conversation with gossip, hearsay, or accusations.

Wynne's stern expression suggest she disagrees, but she holds her tongue. Difficult for her sometimes, Neria knows, returning a steely expression until Wynne's countenance softens. "You knew him better than anyone, yet he kept the secret even from you... I worry that you put your personal feelings ahead of your duty. Should you have to choose between your friend and the Blight, what will you do?" 

A lump forms in Neria's throat. Of course, she knows that could be a possibility. "If it comes to that, I will be ready. But I hope to keep it from that point." 

Wynne's expression—sad, knowing, and almost condescending, if she had that kind of malice in her—tells Neria more than anything else. 

"Is there something I should know?" 

"Not yet, I think. You do not need the burden." Wynne says. "If you change your mind about the things Irving shared with me, I am here." 

"I appreciate that," Neria allows. "I am sorry I have been distant lately. I'm not used to leading anyone _except_ Jowan, and this quest has been... a lot to handle." 

"For what it is worth, I think you are doing admirably." 

"Your approval means a lot," Neria says. Despite her mixed feelings about the Circle and Wynne's dedication to it, Wynne has always been kind. "Actually, if you have a moment, I wouldn't mind another lesson."

"Of course," Wynne agrees. "Have a seat, and I will show you the motions for a Lifeward."

-x-

Neria sees a flash of blue and silver in her periphery but ignores Alistair until she can finish the spell. When she looks up, Wynne is glaring, and she finds it is not Alistair standing over them; it's Jowan. 

Neria has, of course, seen Jowan in various states of undress—most memorably entirely nude, stuck in a closet for two hours while she was in a lesson with Irving. Another apprentice informed her that a sixth floor closet outside the third library requested her, specifically, as soon as possible. Jowan was nearly caught in a tryst with Lily, one of their first, and had to make a hasty disappearance without the opportunity to grab his robes. Neria had to run back to the dorms to fetch him something to wear. 

Something slight and hidden and possessive in her revels at the Warden uniform on Jowan, a visible claim that the Circle can never take him back. 

"Is it supposed to be this tight?" Jowan complains, tugging at a sleeve where it hugs his biceps, stretching across his shoulders. He isn't as thin as he had been in Eamon's dungeon, and the road has toughened them all. 

"The enchantments are fitted," Wynne insists. 

Neria realizes she has been quiet for too long. She clears her throat. "It looks good. Fine. Does it feel uncomfortable?" The Warden armor is much more comfortable than robes have ever felt to Neria.

"Not really uncomfortable, I'm just not used to the fit. Or trousers," Jowan says. He turns a bit, and Neria can see how the pants cling to his thighs and backside, muscular after all the running he's been doing these past few months. She jerks her attention back to his face.

Wynne insists, "Perhaps you just need to get used to them. If you don't mind, we have just a bit more of our lesson before I let the Warden go." Her tone is not _quite_ chilly. She seems to have thawed a bit with Jowan recently or at least decided, like with Morrigan, to take the high road in their interactions and default to dispensing advice instead of refusing to speak to him. Still, her words don't brook argument. 

"Of course, s-sorry, didn't mean to interrupt. I'll just—" Jowan fumbles before making a hasty escape. 

"Did I make a mistake with the somatic components?" Neria asks, finally dragging her attention back to Wynne. 

"No, you were flawless, dear," Wynne tells her. "I just wanted a moment of privacy with you." 

The sense of accomplishment that usually follows the mastery of a new spell is halted. "Was there something else you wanted to discuss?" 

"How long?" Wynne asks with a smile.

"How long what?" Neria asks. Did she miss a question while she was distracted? She so rarely gets distracted. She can't recall anything out of place. 

"How long have you had feelings for Jowan?" Wynne clarifies. 

It is as if Wynne cast Winter's Grasp on Neria; she has had nightmares where Irving asked the same question. Demons have offered her deals about it. Would she like the feelings gone? Would she like Jowan all to herself? Would she like every templar, knight, and enchanter in the Circle dead at her feet, Irving's head on a pike? "I-I'm sorry. I'm not sure I heard you correctly," Neria says just to buy time. Her first thought is _How can Wynne use this?,_ but she sharply reminds herself that Wynne is not Irving and this is not the Circle.

"I am sure you did, dear. This does explain quite a lot. You are very good at hiding it," Wynne says. 

"I would have saved him anyway," Neria insists, finding her voice under her offense. "He's my best friend. I didn't invoke the Right of Conscription just because I'm in—" she can't say the words. They stick to her throat as if caught on something, trapped there to keep them safe. 

"I know. No need to take offense, dear. I was just curious. Though the vehemence of your reaction suggests your feelings run deeper than I suspected." Her sympathy edges toward pity; even Wynne can't fool herself into believing the Circle's insistence on living without attachments is right. 

Neria's voice fizzles out again, like a lost spell. "I don't know how long." Is this something non-mages talk about with their mothers? Is this what normal young adults feel like? Neria suspects the visceral fear, her stomach rolling with nerves, is not typical for the experience. "Before he started seeing Lily," by a few years, she does not clarify.

Wynne's expression softens in understanding. "When the Guardian offered you forgiveness in that pendant, it wasn't just about Jowan's escape, was it?" 

"No," Neria breathes. "Maybe if I told him before they met, Lily wouldn't be in Aeonar and Jowan wouldn't have had to go through all of this." _Maybe he would have come to me about the blood magic_ , Neria thinks. Maybe she could have helped him hide it better.

Wynne takes one of her hands, exuding a peaceful, calming magic. A low-grade healing spell that would make her feel comforted and warm. "Or, perhaps you would not have been so lucky. There is no use in pondering what ifs. Take it for the lesson it is and move forward." 

Neria gives a shaky nod. 

Across the camp, Jowan is trying to make conversation while Sten glowers. "I'm going to go rescue him," Neria says. 

"Be careful that you don't let that habit supersede your duties as a Grey Warden." 

Neria suppresses a sigh. "I'll bear that in mind." 

She makes it back to the center of camp in time to interrupt the squabble between Sten and Jowan before it goes anywhere. Jowan gives Neria a small wave of thanks before heading off toward Morrigan's campfire. 

"My, the makers of Warden armors certainly had onlookers in mind, did they not?" Zevran teases. "Much more flattering than your Jowan's Circle robes." 

Neria wishes for a moment that she had taken more of Wynne's earth magic lessons instead of spending so much time on spirit healing. She could just wave a hand and have the ground swallow her whole. 

"No need for embarrassment," Zevran insists. "If you have a hunger, I am sure I could borrow the armor for a night and sate you." 

Neria buries her burning face in her hands. "Thank you for the offer, Zevran, but I think I will just suffer." 

"I did not take you for the type, but suit yourself. I am not one to judge."


	9. Keeping Watch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair and Jowan have a conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At this point, since Shale is recruited and doesn't sleep, technically, they could be doing full watch rotations either solo or with one party member, but a scene not appearing in this fic: the first time someone suggests this, Shale is like "Well, that's not very fair. I will not be ordered around to do more work than the rest of the party," and Neria shrugs because she's not about to make Shale do extra work, so Shale gets to keep their hours and hours of nighttime, and watch rotations are only modified to accommodate one more person in the cycle. (Is it weird to me that there's no mention of watch rotations in the actual game? Yes, it's fucking weird; the Warden and Alistair are wanted across all of Ferelden, and the whole countryside is crawling with darkspawn, the Warden should absolutely be keeping watch. This is a hill I will die on.)

The Warden armor still feels a little strange, especially the trousers. Jowan arrived at the Circle so young he doesn't really remember what it was like to wear trousers. Neria kept staring today, too, so he's worried he looks a little ridiculous, but he figures if she _really_ thought so she would just tell him so they could laugh about it. He glances to her tent, but it's quiet in there except for Shadow's snores.

 _She_ looks fine in the mage Warden armor. She looks amazing.

Alistair clears his throat, startling Jowan's attention back to the task at hand: keeping watch. He scans the darkness, but he has had about three weeks of this and still no idea what to look or listen for. 

He wishes he could have gotten the watch with Neria or Shadow again, but Neria insisted he learn to get along with her other companions, so here he is. Well, that and Sten took the watch with Shadow before Jowan could. Alistair wasn't Jowan's first choice, but he seemed a necessary one; Neria laughs at his jokes and ribs him back like she did with Daylen. 

Alistair seemed reluctantly wary of Jowan until Jowan began socializing with Morrigan a few days ago; now, he's downright hostile most days. A bit unfair, in Jowan's opinion, given that Alistair seems perfectly aware and willing to warn anyone, as loudly as possible, that friendliness isn't exactly Morrigan's strength. 

It's not like Jowan is even sharing jokes with Morrigan or making friends; she has that air about her that a lot of the loners at the Circle had. It's an aura that says, _I know better than getting attached, and I will be hateful and rude to anyone and everyone equally._ Jowan can see why Neria likes her. Morrigan hates talking about herself and she hates people and civilization and small talk, but she doesn't hate blood magic, and right now, that's better than most of Jowan's options.

When the silence draws out for long enough and Jowan runs out of nonsense to think about, he decides to make an attempt at conversation just to keep himself from nodding off on watch. "So... Neria said you were raised by the Chantry?"

Alistair nods. "And I was trained as a templar before I became a Grey Warden. Does that bother you?"

Jowan shrugs. "Neria said you never wanted to be a templar. My father dropped me at a Chantry when I started showing signs of magic. I just thought it was something we had in common. Should I be bothered?" Most of what a templar could do wasn't very effective against blood magic. Morrigan said that little detail had as much to do with why blood magic was outlawed as all the dangerous stuff it could allegedly do, not that it really makes Jowan feel a lot better.

"Most mages are," Alistair says.

It's hard to ignore a lifetime of justified fear, even for someone with less anxiety than Jowan, but Neria wouldn't keep around an ex-almost-templar she didn't trust. "Neria likes you, so that's good enough for me."

Alistair's eyebrows climb. "That easy?"

"She doesn't like many people," Jowan says. Already, this group is more people than she ever found likable at the Circle in all the years they were stuck there together. "I trust her."

"She called you family, you know," Alistair says after a moment.

Jowan's attention snaps to Alistair.

"That's why she saved you. She said you were all she had outside of the Wardens."

"...Really?" 

" _Don't_ make her regret it."

"I-I won't! I really do want to help. I know I'm not very strong or used to fighting, but... I want to make up for everything I've done." 

Alistair's expression remains stiff. Neria keeps saying he's very funny and kind, but most of the humor Jowan has seen is somewhat barbed. "Good," Alistair says, at last.

"She said as much about you," Jowan offers.

Alistair's stern expression seems to soften with surprise in the firelight.

"She isn't very good at showing she cares, sometimes. The Circle sort of... grinds that out of everyone, but she cares about everyone here."

"I... appreciate that." The crackling fire and Shadow's snores are the only sounds for a few minutes while Alistair considers before asking his next question. "What was it like at the Circle? Growing up there, I mean. Neria doesn't really like to talk about it."

"Well, she always saw it as a prison," Jowan begins.

"You didn't?"

Jowan shrugs. "Not always. My mother was... not a good person. At the Circle, there was Neria, and then I had..." he stumbles over Lily's name. "There were things I miss. Even if I had been Harrowed, though, Irving would have separated us eventually. Neria and I were too close. It's nearly impossible to keep friends in the Circle, especially once you're a fully fledged mage." Daylen hadn't made it that far before he was transferred. Discussing that without Neria would be unfair to her, though, so Jowan doesn't.

"Were you and Neria ever...?" Alistair trails off.

It takes Jowan a moment to catch the innuendo. "Maker, no! I had a girlfriend." He never really thought of Neria like that back then, but now, well. She carries a confidence that she didn't allow herself in the Circle, and it's hard not to wonder sometimes, like earlier, watching her frighten off Loghain's messenger. She never has had much interest in long-term attachments, and Jowan has always been a hopeless romantic, so he tries to shove the question down before it can bubble into a proper answer.

"Then why would Irving care how close you were?"

Jowan struggles to find the words to explain the near-constant paranoia of living in the Circle. "Serious relationships—even friendships—are discouraged. They separate families. Siblings are never allowed at the same Circle." His voice grows bitter and sharp with the memory of Daylen recalling how he had been shipped all the way to Ferelden to keep him away from any other Amells. "They can't have mages working together or trusting each other."

"In case they try to, I don't know, band together, destroy their phylacteries, and make a break for it?" Alistair says with a levity that isn't reflected in his expression.

Jowan can't help a guilty smile at the barb. "Well, er, yes. That's not the only reason, though." Jowan pauses while he considers how much Neria might have already told Alistair, how much sharing would be an invasion of her privacy. "How much do you know about Neria's relationship with the First Enchanter?" 

"She hates him," Alistair summarizes. "Mostly because of the business with you, I gathered."

 _She doesn't hate_ _him_ , Jowan thinks, but the protest dies before he gets it out. She didn't hate Irving before they left; she was wary of him, but she still looked up to him. Of course, that was before the Harrowing, before Irving put a demon in her, before she found out that Jowan was slated to be made Tranquil, before Lily—

Jowan pushes that thought away. "Neria was Irving's favorite, which meant that no templar was going to go easy on her, and as long as she stayed in line, he could make sure they didn't single her out. But we've been close since she arrived at the Circle, so even when she started drawing back after—" he almost slips, almost says _after Daylen_. "When we were teenagers, she realized they would separate us eventually, but it didn't matter. Everyone already knew we were friends. Even if I had been halfway decent at magic..." Jowan shrugs. "Best case scenario, they shipped me off to some other Circle, where I would be ostracized and hated and die miserable and alone, like the Chantry thinks all mages should.

"I ran away because I just wanted a normal life. I just wanted a small farm and to live with Lily, no magic, no demons, no templars, just the simple life, and now she's—" Jowan stops himself as his voice starts to rise, taking a shuddering breath. He covers his mouth with one hand to quiet himself; it's an older impulse to keep him from crying, but it works to calm him here, too. Even if there are no templars patrolling the forest, the last thing he wants is to wake one of their campmates and cause a scene.

"Neria told me about that," Alistair says softly. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry. She didn't deserve that."

Jowan nods, unable to make his voice work.

The rest of the watch, like most nights before, is uneventful.


	10. Everybody Hates the Deep Roads

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Desperate times (any times the Warden is in the Deep Roads) call for desperate measures (blood magic).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on the blood magic specialization tree. "Blood Magic: For as long as this mode is active, the caster sacrifices health to power spells instead of expending mana, but effects that heal the blood mage are much less effective than normal." and "Blood Sacrifice: The blood mage sucks the life-force from an ally, healing the caster but potentially killing the ally. This healing is not affected by the healing penalty of Blood Magic." I know, I know: "but you can only control one creature with blood at a time with the blood magic specialization" and "don't the tentacles keep you from running away from the broodmother boss fight?" listen, pal, I wrote this bit before I got that far on my replay okay, it's called _artistic license,_ look it up.

Neria can feel that she has made a mistake in leading the group down here before she can see it. More darkspawn filter through her consciousness all around, slipping through tunnels not mapped and cutting off their escape as the broodmother begins to flag, screaming. Neria is completely tapped out, and her belt is empty of lyrium potions, despite stocking up on the way in. She cannot afford to use the blood-for-mana trick she learned from Avernus again so soon. Jowan is tapped out, as well. She can see it in the way his hand shakes near his knife. Alistair is panting, holding his shield up as well as he can to keep the darkspawn back. Even Shale and Oghren are beginning to flag, and Shadow has drawn back to her side. "Jowan, now is the time for some blood magic."

Jowan hesitates, but Neria screams, "Now, do it now or we die." 

Jowan is much more practiced this time when he pulls out his knife, slicing carefully across his forearm. Neria hasn't seen him use blood magic since the Circle, but he must have found the time to improve. 

The row of darkspawn in front of them stop advancing, their blood boiling in their veins. Several of them rupture. Neria does her best to cover Oghren from any darkspawn blood or viscera to minimize his exposure to the taint. The next row of darkspawn descend on the broodmother while Jowan mutters another incantation. While they're occupied, Shadow leads the way and Neria shoves Oghren past the corpses, down the tunnel they came from, not without some difficulty because _of course_ Oghren wants to stay and fight to the last. Behind her, Alistair and Shale usher Jowan toward the opening in the horde. 

Jowan starts to stumble, Alistair pausing to help him stay upright before turning his shield toward the back line again. 

Neria rushes to Jowan's other side, fitting herself under his arm to assist. "How can I help?"

"I can keep it going," Jowan insists. "If I don't make it, don't do anything stupid like try to carry my body out."

"No! You're making it out." Neria takes on more of his weight as his movements grow sluggish.

"You can't heal me when I cast like this," he warns. "It won't be effective."

"Jowan, you're not dying in the Deep Roads." Neria insists. "Use me." She hefts Jowan more firmly, following Oghren toward somewhere that can be secured, she hopes. Alistair and Shale hold behind them so that no straggling darkspawn can overwhelm Neria and Jowan. Jowan doesn't respond immediately, pale and concentrating. "Jowan, _please_ , take what you need."

Jowan's eyes are glassy now, focused on his magic not on her, but the urgency of her tone seems to make a difference. His arm over her shoulder tightens a little. He steadies himself with his free hand, bringing it up to her shoulder, one thumb touching the cut she made along her collarbone where she feels the blood magic begin to take effect. Neria's strength deserts her, nearly sending them both tumbling to the ground.

Jowan catches himself on the wall, his arm around her shoulder keeping her limp but upright. Alistair backs into them, his clanking keeping Neria cognizant of her surroundings.

Neria can feel the darkspawn in the back of her mind, dissonant and discordant echoes of their rhythms controlled by Jowan turning back toward the fray, keeping their escape route blocked while the group assaulting the broodmother are released, finally victorious in their efforts. _Someone should tell Oghren and Shale it's dead_ , Neria thinks, the overwhelming, unholy presence in the back of her mind finally sent to the Void. 

"What did you do?" Alistair demands. Neria feels his cold plate all around her, hefting her away from the darkspawn and Jowan. She has to fight for consciousness after that. Distantly, she hears the scrape of stone, not quite Shale's noise. A barricade, she hopes. Nothing hurts now, and she is just cognizant enough to know that's a bad sign, but not what to do about it. 

Neria tries to lift her head to see around her, to see Jowan or Oghren or Shale. She has to know that they're all okay. She can't quite make out Jowan's rhythm under the thunder of all the darkspawn in her mind.

She thinks she hears Alistair calling her name, but her eyelids are made of lead.

-x-

Neria's face is ashen as Alistair gently sets her on the stone. Oghren and Shale continue moving heavy furniture to block the door. There is no exit here; this is just one of many abandoned homes in the thaig. For now, they seem to have outpaced the horde, though Alistair can't be sure none of them will be bold enough to follow. 

Jowan lets out a loud breath, leaning against the wall for a moment before he seems to finally realize the urgency of what he's done and begins to limp across the room, one hand on the stone to support himself. 

Alistair reaches for his sword before he can think better of it. Shadow gives a warning growl, inserting himself between Alistair and Jowan. Alistair isn't sure which of them he's growling at, but he's probably right; Neria would be livid if she could see this. Alistair doesn't draw his sword, but he doesn't drop his hand yet, either. 

Jowan holds his hands up in surrender, crashing to his knees beside Neria. "I can help! Please, she's important to me, too."

"You did this," Alistair snarls.

"Quickly," Jowan insists. "Before we lose her."

Alistair might think Jowan is exaggerating if he couldn't feel Neria slipping from his Warden senses. He lowers his hand, leaning back enough to seem nonthreatening. Neria has no chance without magic. 

Jowan fills the gap instantly, leaning over Neria to check her injuries. "Do we have any elfroot left?"

No, of course they don't; Neria handed Jowan the last of it to make into a poultice before they went in. Alistair digs through her bag, just in case, which is when Jowan starts in with the blood magic. "What are you doing?"

"Closing the wounds," Jowan says with more steel in his voice than Alistair thought him capable of. "I don't have the energy for a proper healing spell."

"It looks like blood magic," Alistair snaps.

Jowan has the gall to shrug. "Sometimes the line is fine on what constitutes blood magic, exactly."

Neria continues to breathe and doesn't seem to be slipping further into the Fade, so Alistair doesn't push, though Maker knows he wants to. He glances to Shadow, who is resting his massive head on Neria's legs, unbothered by whatever Jowan is doing. 

"Elfroot?" Jowan presses.

"No," Alistair snaps, tossing Neria's bag to the side. Not even an empty potion flask. "No lyrium, either, before you ask. Nothing."

Jowan curses under his breath. He looks desperately around the room, but Neria already cleaned this place out, not that there was much here to begin with. Oghren leans on his axe, drinking something probably noxious from a hip flask. Jowan's attention settles on Alistair again.

"What?"

Jowan says, "I need blood."

"You don't think you've done enough damage yet?" Neria's pulse is weak in her throat. All the first aid training the Chantry could offer can't save her now. 

"Just a bit, just to save her," Jowan pleads. "I can't lose her like this."

Shadow whimpers.

"You can't be serious," Alistair says to the dog.

Jowan responds, "I can heal her, but if I try to do it on my own power, I will pass out before the spell can finish. She won't make it, and I've lost too much blood." 

"Wasn't talking to you," Alistair snaps. He holds Shadow's gaze. Shadow doesn't back down. "Maker's breath." He shifts his attention to Jowan, finally, who stares back with nothing but desperation in his eyes. "You can really save her, even like this?" 

Jowan opens his mouth, hesitates, then says, "I-I think so. I-I-I mean, yes. Yes, I can." 

It's better than anything Alistair has to offer. He rips his left gauntlet off, throwing it to the side with Neria's bag. "All right." Alistair holds his left hand out. The cut is quick and shallow; Jowan has been keeping the knife sharp with instruction from Zevran and Leliana. He is _too_ practiced at blood magic, in Alistair's professional opinion. The blood doesn't ooze or trickle or even flow smoothly in heartbeat pulses from his wrist; it sprays, misting the air and dissipating as it is consumed by the spell. 

Alistair is surprised at how little blood is taken; more than a reasonable amount, of course, but not enough to make him weak. Not enough to make him cold like Neria. Shadow huffs, as if to say, _Told you so_.

"Shut up," Alistair tells him.

The magic that envelops Neria isn't the soft blue of wisp light and spirits Alistair has come to expect from Neria and Wynne; an unsettling red misting appears around her, filtering slowly toward her wounds. The color begins to return to her cheeks as Jowan concentrates, and Neria's presence strengthens under the scratch and scrabbling of the darkspawn. Alistair breathes a sigh of relief.

"Oh, thank the Maker," Jowan murmurs. He relaxes onto the ground, taking Neria's hand in his to warm her fingers. "Neria? Wake up, please." 

Neria comes to slowly. It's an odd sight for all that she's otherwise very much a morning person. Alistair often finds her the first one awake in camp, and she flutters to alertness quickly at any unexpected noises in the night.

"You're okay?" Neria mumbles, glancing between them.

"Fine," Jowan says.

"What was _that_?" Alistair breathes. She's alive, she's alive.

"We were going to die," Neria says. "I told Jowan to do it."

Alistair scrubs a hand over his face. " _You_ nearly died. He nearly killed you." Jowan flinches as if stricken. The authenticity of his guilt almost makes Alistair feel bad.

"We all nearly died," Neria grounds. "Better me than all of us." 

"That's _not_ acceptable," Jowan argues before Alistair can. 

Neria tries to sit up, but Jowan gently keeps her in place. "Don't—don't sit up yet, you're still injured." She is still too pale. She needs to sleep, really sleep, not just catch five minutes of unconsciousness in a forgotten thaig. 

She huffs with impatience. Her eyes flit to Shale, then around her in a quick scan. "Is Oghren still alive?" 

"Aye, it'll take more than Branka's sodding side piece to keep me down," Oghren says from across the room. He fishes another bottle of something from his bag. Neria can't see him to tell him to stay sober, but Alistair doesn't say anything either. He's not one for drink, but he can understand the need to settle one's nerves after that ordeal.

"Let's rest here for a bit," Neria says, as if they have any other options. She opted to leave all non-Wardens, including Wynne, at camp for this excursion due to the risk of being tainted, a decision that seemed sensible at the time. 

The darkspawn in the tunnels are maintaining their distance for now, having retreated well out of range of what Alistair can sense. He focuses on Neria's presence in the back of his mind, getting stronger.

The anger deserts him in a rush. They are all still alive, the tunnels should be easier to pass when they have had a moment to breathe, and, for now, everyone is safe enough. Okay, maybe he does feel a bit rash for doubting Jowan. After a bit of time to settle his nerves, Alistair gestures to the side. "A moment?" he says to Jowan.

Jowan's eyes go wide, frozen like a startled nug. "I—er... Sure." Jowan releases Neria's hand rather reluctantly. "Please try not to move," Jowan tells her with the exasperation of someone who has definitely had to deal with Neria injured before. The only thing between Neria and doing something reckless to injure herself further is the mabari in her lap.

Alistair walks across the room to the closest thing he can find to a secluded corner. Jowan catches up quickly. 

"Sorry," Alistair says. 

Jowan glances around, as if unsure if Alistair is talking to him. "For...?" 

Alistair nearly snaps at him again. "Sorry for threatening you before." 

"Oh," Jowan relaxes. "Already forgotten. Is that... is that all you needed?"

Alistair sighs. It felt like a lot more a moment ago; the apology _was_ necessary in much the same way that his threat wasn't. At the same time, Alistair's not so stupid as to admit to threatening Jowan in front of Neria. Grievous injury or not, she'll flay him. Jowan's attention wanders back to Neria the second Alistair pauses, though. Jowan flinched from darkspawn, from Shale, from Oghren, from Alistair, too, but didn't hesitate to do something stupid for Neria. Several somethings stupid. "You care about her," Alistair vocalizes the realization as soon as it hits him. He feels a bit foolish for taking so long to realize; of _course_ Jowan's in love with her. 

Jowan's attention snaps back to him, the softness gone from his expression in favor of bewilderment. "Er, yes? She's my best friend." 

Alistair rolls his eyes. "They don't make stupid templars, you know." 

"Yes, they do," Jowan says, then blanches, fumbling, "Not you, I mean, you're all right, but I've definitely met stupid templars." 

Alistair folds his arms. He seldom has to play the big, dumb brute, but he has been an imposing figure behind Neria often enough that he has figured it out. "Don't dodge the question." 

"It wasn't much of a question," Jowan whines. 

"Are you or are you not in lo—" Alistair begins just a bit more insistently, but Jowan slams a hand over his mouth, hastily shooting a glance to Neria. 

"Shhhh." 

Alistair shoves Jowan back, sparing a second to check on Neria, too. She is focused on Shadow very intently. Too intently. Right, Alistair thinks. Elf hearing. She might _still_ flay him if she caught a third of the exchange so far. Alistair never has been much good at subterfuge or secret-keeping.

"Yes," Jowan hisses. "I care. Some of the feelings are not strictly platonic. Are you happy? Are you going to use that information? I thought you _weren't_ a templar." 

The words hit harder than Alistair would have expected. For all that he has no attachment to the Chantry, for all that he knows he made the mages at Ostagar uncomfortable, Neria and Jowan and Wynne haven't really shown _fear_ for him. Alistair nearly drew his blade on Jowan only minutes ago, and Jowan wasn't afraid _of_ him, not like now. Then again, maybe Jowan is just better at hiding when he's afraid, like Neria. Maybe all Circle mages are. Softly, Alistair insists, "No, I'm not going to use the information."

"Then, it doesn't matter." Jowan says. "She deserves better." 

_That_ , Alistair realizes, is a lot more self-awareness than he expected. Worse than that, he realizes with dread that he might disagree. "You saved her life. That's not nothing." At least Morrigan has the decency to be a horrible human being along with all the spooky apostate nonsense. 

Jowan nods after a moment. "Thank you for trusting me." 

"I trusted the dog," Alistair corrects. Well, mostly. 

Jowan snorts. "Of course you did." 

Alistair smirks. "Is he ever wrong?" 

Jowan's laugh might be genuine. 

Across the room, Neria's hands begin to glow with a soft blue light as she heals herself. Jowan starts, raising his voice to plead, "Can you just rest for a few minutes?" He looks to Shadow. "You're supposed to be watching her." 

Shadow's ears droop in a playful guilt. His tail wagging gives him away, though. 

Jowan moves back to Neria's side, leaving Alistair to trail after or be caught standing awkwardly in a corner by himself like a weirdo. He opts for trailing after. 

"All right?" Neria asks, glancing between them. 

"Fine," Jowan insists again. "Neither of _us_ nearly died." 

That's patently untrue, and Neria's glare says she's ready to argue it, too. "I meant between the two of you," she insists.

"We didn't kill each other while you were unconscious, so I think we're in the clear," Alistair says. 

Her expression softens into something close to a pout. 

Alistair isn't ready to admit he has anything in common with Jowan, though, so he manfully resists. For a moment, anyway. Alistair sighs as he tugs his gauntlet back on over the shallow cut Jowan made on his forearm. "Everyone is still alive, that's what matters." 

-x-

After they finally make it back to the surface, Neria announces she has watch with Jowan tonight, brooking no argument and upsetting the delicate rotation of duties already set. She passes the evening updating her journal, clinically noting every detail of the broodmother she can recall, how it looked, the exact sensation of it in her mind, the way it Called to her in a voice unlike any other darkspawn, as much as she can remember of Hespith's horrifying rhymes.

She thinks this must be why there are not as many women among the Grey Wardens. 

She jots down everything she can about the Anvil of the Void next and the Orzammar throne, especially anything she expects the Shaperate might not make note of or anything that might be influenced by Bhelen's account.

Alistair and Jowan have been silent most of the evening, a reluctant peace between them that Neria hopes will last. Everyone retires early tonight, leaving Neria and Jowan to first watch.

She informs him when it is time for a perimeter, staying closer to him than usual. "Alistair said you saved my life," she says. 

"After I nearly killed you," Jowan argues. 

"He mentioned that, too," Neria agrees. By the time she got to the cut on Alistair's arm, it was too late to prevent scarring, but he didn't seem as bothered as she would expect, given how much he usually rails against blood magic. The situation must have seemed dire. She didn't see any demons, though, so she must not have been as close to death as they thought; Neria always heard that when a mage dies, if it's slow enough, they can hear demons offering deals to save their life. Perhaps she was too weak, even next to the thinned Veil in the Deep Roads.

Neria finally stops her perimeter when she feels far enough from camp and Shale. "I never want to feel that helpless again," she says. "I want you to teach me blood magic."

Jowan fumbles a flurry of panicked excuses. "You really don't want to be a maleficar. There are already two of us, and it's really dangerous magic. What if you're caught? Wynne will skin me alive."

"You know I can keep a secret. I already learned a little at Soldier's Peak," she presses. " _Please_. I can't do that again. The Chantry already uses blood magic for phylacteries, it's just semantics."

"You'll never have a normal life."

"I never wanted that anyway."

More softly, he pleads, "You can never settle down with someone."

She feels the edge of a precipice as she says, "I don't need anyone else to understand. Just you."

Jowan holds her gaze for a moment in the moonlight before his expression finally softens into resignation. "All right." 

"Thank you," Neria says.


	11. Let's Practice Some Blood Magic!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A covert lesson. 
> 
> _It smells like deathroot and elfroot inside. Jowan always smells like this, like bitter herbs and sweet poisons and a little coppery like someone who was always so clumsy he had scrapes and cuts as an apprentice, like the sort of person templars liked to single out anyway_ just in case, _where just in case meant_ because he's an easy target.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings for self-harm? I mean, it's blood magic, so it's more a ritual component, but they've both kind of expressed some suicidal ideation and self-esteem issues so like. 
> 
> This chapter was added much later in my outlining/drafting than like most other chronological chapters because I handwaved learning blood magic like the game handwaves all your specialization scenes and then I nearly dropped it because I was like oh man writing about self-harm even as a ritual component is kind of dark. And then I spent so much time on the scene I conned myself into keeping it and continuing to work on it with the sunk cost fallacy and my sheer determination to have a blood magic scene, so I hope you like it lmao.

Jowan wakes to the sound of light boots crunching in the snow outside his tent; not templars, he surmises. His hand is halfway to his staff on instinct before he remembers that Neria wanted a lesson tonight before they are out of the Frostbacks. Jowan feels suddenly too awake at the realization, but he hardly has the time for his stomach to begin turning with anxiety before he hears voices outside his tent. 

Zevran is not quite as soft-spoken as Jowan knows he can be when he says, "The things mages can do in bed, I am sure, are worth learning." 

"Not that kind of lesson, Zevran," Neria insists, but her voice is lighter and more playful than Jowan would expect. He finds himself trying to analyze it—is she flirting with Zevran? is she playful because anything between her and Jowan is an impossibility?—before Zevran responds. 

"Too bad. The dry spell continues." The certainty in his voice almost makes Jowan self-conscious. Well, more self-conscious than usual.

"I'm not sure either of us could teach you much, anyway," Neria murmurs.

"There is _always_ more to learn."

Jowan can picture Neria's fond raised eyebrow perfectly as she concedes with a huff. "Goodnight, Zevran." 

"Goodnight, Warden." 

Jowan hardly has time to wonder if it's ruder to eavesdrop or to interrupt a conversation already at its end and finds himself probably on the wrong side of the question before the tent flap opens and Neria pokes through, mostly a silhouette thanks to the small fire. "Did we wake you?" she asks. 

"It's fine," Jowan insists. He gestures for her to enter, then realizes she might not be able to see it. "Er, come in." 

Neria slips in quickly, leaving her boots by the exit next to his. She settles closer to him, immediately pulling some of the furs around herself to ward off the chill. 

If Alistair told her anything about Jowan's feelings, she isn't acting any differently because of it. Her cold toes bump against Jowan's calves and then press closer for warmth. Once she is settled at his side, she conjures a small, dim wisp.

"And you thought the stone floors at the tower were cold," he teases. 

"I can't wait until we're out of the mountains," she murmurs. 

"Oh, it's not so bad once you get used to it. Better than the mud," Jowan says. 

Neria huffs. "I wish Tegan had let us take you with us to Haven, then you'd appreciate the mud." 

"Nothing like a good dollop of mud in your boots to make the Circle sound inviting." 

Neria's face scrunches in disgust. "Even Haven was better than that," she insists. "At least I was allowed to kill everyone who was trying to kill me." 

That joke lands a little too sharply, but Jowan laughs anyway. He feels guilty for the months of running around and almost dying that he missed. She built a whole new life in the time it took Jowan to ruin his. "You don't miss it even a little?" 

She pauses, smile slipping in thought. "I miss the familiarity, sometimes. I don't miss the templars, though." She shifts just a bit closer, startling Jowan out of his spiraling thoughts as she says, "Anyway, we only have until the next watch. Tell me about blood magic."

"It's a lot easier to use, for one," Jowan sits up a bit straighter. "It's not addictive, but it's... well, it's sort of the opposite of the Fade, so it's hard to be good at both, and it's a shame that it has such a bad reputation, because it can do some very interesting things that creation magic can't." As Jowan talks, her mouth tilts into an indulgent smile. Right, he reminds himself. Limited amount of time. "Anyway, uh, I guess we should get to it?"

"Where do we start?" 

"Right... er." He pauses. "Well, I think I should warn you, it's not quite like normal spellcasting. It's sort of like taking a different road to the Fade, and it cuts you off from the first, like a fork in the road. Or closing one door and opening another." 

Neria allows him to ramble for a moment before nodding. "Thank you for the warning." 

Jowan exhales. "You're going to hate it. Spirits don't normally like it; it's not really a compatible school of magic." 

Neria takes a moment to mull this over, staring at the soft, orange wisp in her hands before nodding. "I would still like to learn the theory, at least." 

That's the thing she's _really_ not going to like. "I don't have much of the theory behind it. I was sort of... given the memories and knowledge of how to use blood magic and none of the _why_ or the _how_ to it." 

Neria's neutral expression somehow manages to become even flatter. 

"I drew up some notes anyway—well, Morrigan helped. I knew you would ask, but, well, you'll see why it doesn't lend itself well to theory." Jowan drags his bag over to rifle through for his sketches. 

Neria perks up at the prospect of vellum full of notes because _of course_ she does. Jowan feels a smile tugging at his mouth. She says, "Don't look so smug. I just like to be precise." 

"I'm not smug, I'm just _prepared_." 

To his surprise, Neria doesn't unroll the vellum right away. Instead, she looks back to Jowan expectantly. "I can read any time."

Jowan takes a deep breath. He spent most of his time earlier in the night during his watch trying to figure out what to teach her first, but the problem is that it's _all_ blood magic. The fact that she already knows a bit doesn't make him feel better. He feels almost as if keeping the _bad_ blood magic from her will keep her safer, somehow. If she only knows a _bit_ , if she _dabbles_ , if she sticks to things that Fade magic can do, too, she'll be safer. 

The familiarity of Neria at his side after dark, both of them doing something illicit, asking friends to keep guard, it's too much like the Circle suddenly in a way that's not pleasant or nostalgic in its familiarity. The moment curdles along with the contents of Jowan's stomach. "The easiest way to learn is to show you."

Neria's expression similarly shifts, just a downturn of her lips, which on her might as well be a scowl.

"I know. Look, there are... a few ways we can do this."

Neria's eyes flicker to Jowan's left hand, his fleeing Kinloch scar. He forces himself not to clench his fist to hide it. She was there when it was made. He has nothing left to hide from her. Still, the shame turns his insides to lead. "I want to learn everything," she says. Of course she does. "But I don't want to hurt you to do it."

"It's blood magic," Jowan says. He tries to smile to make what he's saying seem less horrible, but it doesn't feel like it helps much. "There's sort of a prerequisite, even for dabbling. If you change your mind... now or any time tonight or later or whatever, we can stop. I won't think less of you."

"I haven't changed my mind." Neria takes out a thin, fine knife, a glorified cheese knife, honestly, but it's enchanted to hold an edge.

Jowan expects she won't, but knowing that doesn't make it easier. "Best to cut somewhere that won't bleed much; the magic will take what it needs, so don't take any unnecessary risks." He points to the spot on his forearm he usually uses. There isn't a scar there yet, but only because he has always been careful to heal it quickly. "Shallow, easy to heal." He trusts her to know this part from her experience with healing, if not with inflicting wounds. He pulls out his own knife, draws the line quickly.

Neria imitates the motion, almost too slowly, definitely deeper than she needs to. She sucks in a breath through her teeth, brow sharpened in displeasure.

"Now, make this gesture," Jowan moves his hand in a sigil that definitely isn't any kind of ancient Tevene or along the lines of any of the Circle's somatic teachings. "Then, focus on using the blood instead of the Fade." 

"That's it?" She says.

"You know I'm not much of a teacher." Jowan can't keep the whine out of his voice. 

Neria's harsh expression shifts to something she would kill him for calling a pout, but her lower lip juts and her eyes look big for a helpless moment before she raises a hand to trace the gesture in the air. It doesn't work; her movements are too sharp. She tries a second time, gesturing for Jowan to repeat the sigil. When her third attempt fails, she says, "I've never seen you do this." 

"I've used blood magic often enough that I don't need to," Jowan explains. He really hasn't used blood magic around her since the Circle. Well, not until she asked. He didn't want to ruin his second chance after Redcliffe by using forbidden magic, but he has made a few exceptions since Morrigan was curious. Really, it's only been academic usage until Neria demanded he do something in the Deep Roads. "I can just show you?" Jowan holds a hand toward hers, waiting for permission. 

"All right." 

Jowan hesitates despite her permission. This had seemed like a natural idea; the enchanters would often do this sort of thing in the Circle, but now that he is presented with the actuality of it, Jowan realizes he may give away too much. 

Neria drops the furs from her shoulders, placing her hand in Jowan's. Jowan pretends that's all he was waiting for instead of acting more obviously cagey about the idea of touching her. They've held hands before. She has taught him spells this way. It should be easy, he tells himself. _Normal._ It takes a moment to maneuver correctly, until Jowan's chest is pressed to Neria's back, arm alongside hers as he holds her hand to trace the sigil in the air. 

"Again," she insists. He moves her hand through the air again, trying to focus on the lesson and not the smell of campfire smoke and fresh snow that follows her even outside the Frostbacks.

"Now you try," Jowan murmurs. He releases his hand but doesn't quite pull away. 

This time, Jowan can tell it worked by the way her shoulders tense against his chest. She raises her hand as if to cup something in front of her.

"Careful," Jowan warns, recognizing the learning exercise. "Blood magic can be more powerful than you're used to."

The ball of flame she conjures is larger and brighter than she meant it to be; she shrinks it nearly immediately, leaving both of them blinking spots from their eyes and readjusting to the dim light of the tent. "I can't feel the Fade." The words are more an accusation than a statement.

"That's normal. You can switch back, if you prefer." Jowan shoves down his reluctance to pull away and allows her to take back her personal space. 

The flame vanishes entirely, making her wisp light seem like nothing in comparison. She relaxes the blood magic and draws her hand back to her chest to clasp her pendant for comfort. "You were right," she says, her voice somewhat shaky. "I hated that."

Jowan nods. "Eventually you can get used to it, and you will be able to just... shift your focus between the Fade and your blood without the sigil." 

"Can you teach me the spell you used to control the darkspawn?"

"Not tonight. It's very advanced, and I used a modified version, not to mention you're still injured."

"It's been days. You and Wynne have fussed over me enough to make me fit to fight the archdemon, as if I don't know how to treat an injury."

Jowan raises his eyebrows. She is easily the worst patient in the group, and he doesn't think Wynne will disagree with that. "You worried m—we were all very worried. You don't realize how close you came to dying. That was the most reckless you've been in ages."

Neria averts her gaze, the closest to a concession he'll get. "I wasn't going to let you die down there." She presses her thumb into the edges of the pendant, flipping it while her toes stiffen in discomfort against his leg. "What else can you teach me tonight?"

Jowan hesitates. "Can I ask you to promise me you won't be reckless with this magic?" He's aware that he already taught her enough to be dangerous for her as much as anyone she uses it against. "Don't risk your life if you don't have to. I can't... I can't handle losing you, too. Not after everyone else we've lost." 

Neria's shoulders slump. "I'm sorry. I don't want to lose anyone else either. I promise I won't be reckless." 

Jowan exhales in relief. "Thank you."

"I didn't think we would get this far," Neria admits, eyes on the wisp hovering over her lap. "Only one more treaty to go." 

"You've done amazing work," Jowan agrees. 

"I didn't do it alone." She turns her gaze to him, allowing just enough time for Jowan to realize he's been staring back long enough to be awkward before she says, "Alistair said you used some kind of blood magic to heal me. Could you teach me that?" 

Startled into remembering they only have limited time, Jowan straightens. "Right! Yes, of course, let's start with something simple. Let me see your hand. This is more about blood manipulation than casting from the blood, though obviously you can do both."

Neria relaxes a bit, holding out her hand.

-x-

The rest of Zevran and Morrigan's shift on watch passes more quickly than Jowan would have expected. 

The cut under Neria's magic heals quickly, smoothly, and without leaving a scar. There is a trick to healing without leaving a mark; Jowan has never quite mastered it, and Neria only bothers if she expects the scar to be inconvenient. The exception, of course, being the long, thin slash at her neck, which she couldn't heal in time. The only blood magic Jowan didn't teach her, and unavoidably, it has left a mark visible between the collar of her tabard. Jowan finds himself wanting to trace it, to follow the line of it with his mouth, to know for sure, by touch, by taste that it's really healed. 

"Can you teach me to read minds?" Neria asks. 

"Probably not," Jowan admits, his attention jolting from her neck in a needless guilt; she certainly can't read minds now. "I've never used it, and it's not exactly the sort of spell you can use in combat." That's one spell he hasn't even told Morrigan he can do. He's not sure he wants it documented in Flemeth's grimoire. 

"Why not?" Neria presses. 

Jowan should have known better than to hope she would leave it. "It's too costly, for one. It's not a quick spell, either, it's more of a ritual. If you knew something bad was coming, and you had maybe a day and a few lives to sacrifice, you could be unstoppable in battle." Of course, the only time they would have that kind of time, notice, and expendable lives would likely be with and against darkspawn, so rather a wasted effort when they could feel so much of the darkspawn through the taint.

Neria _hmmm_ s, so Jowan expects she will still want to know the specifics eventually. "Do you ever work on streamlining some of these spells?" she asks. 

She will _definitely_ want to know the mind reading ritual, then, Jowan decides. "You know I've never been good with theory," he deflects. 

"Have you asked Morrigan about it?"

"No," Jowan admits. If he teaches Morrigan and Neria the ritual for reading minds, he knows they will both want to use it eventually; the difference is that he understands Neria's moral code. Even if it's not up to the Chantry's expectations, he knows there are lines she won't cross, and he trusts her. Morrigan is always hiding something. He recognizes a habitual liar. Given what he knows of her, it's probably nothing dangerous to them, but he doesn't want to push it. 

"I'd like to help, eventually. If I can. And I know at least one other blood mage." 

She doesn't have very high opinions of the man who taught her the only blood magic she didn't learn from Jowan, but he takes that as a hopeful comment, nonetheless. "Sure," Jowan agrees. "Best get back to your own tent before rotation, though." 

"Thank you for staying up to do this," Neria says. She drops his blankets back in a pile, slipping to the edge of his tent in near silence to don her boots again. 

"Of course. Just like at the tower," Jowan agrees. Her toes will be cold again by the time she gets back to her tent, and Jowan almost dismisses the impropriety and secrecy and offers to let her stay. They never could have a proper sleepover in the Circle. He pushes the impulse back down with some difficulty. 

Neria laughs. "Much better than the tower." She pauses on her way out, as if thinking of saying something else. Eventually, she says, "Good night." 

"Good night," Jowan echoes. Her wisp follows her out, and when it's dark and silent and cold again, Jowan flops back onto his pallet and drifts off, trying and failing to ignore how his blankets smell a bit like campfire and fresh snow. 


	12. Neria's Got It Bad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jowan finds out Neria has feelings for someone.

"Thank you for the lovely offer, but I'm otherwise occupied," Neria says.

Isabela shrugs. "Too bad. There's always the Lay Warden. Zevran?"

"Warden, if you don't mind," Zevran says with a wink, following Isabela.

"Is it true about Grey Warden stamina?" Isabela asks in a voice that could not even generously be called subtle.

Zevran's voice grows fainter as he follows Isabela, but Jowan can still hear him clearly. "I would have to get back to you after bedding more than one of them, but in my experience, yes."

"Maker's breath," Alistair laughs, cheeks red. "That's more than I needed to know about you."

Neria's cheeks are a bit pink, as well. "It was a while ago," she mutters to Jowan. Jowan feels a bit out of the loop for not realizing she had a fling with Zevran, but it doesn't sting as much as the implication that she has feelings for someone and he had no idea. At least Zevran is _definitely_ her type and more than obvious about his flirtations. 

"Are you really occupied?" Alistair asks.

"I'm not in a secret relationship, I just have interests elsewhere right now," Neria says.

Jowan laughs. The words fall out too soon for him to think them through, "'Interests elsewhere?' Who interests you? I can't believe you haven't told me yet, we never keep secrets."

"Never, huh?" Alistair mutters. "I thought there was a bloody big one."

"Alistair," Neria warns. She glances to Jowan, so he plasters on a smile to show that he's fine, really! No feelings hurt by a Alistair highlighting a very real and legitimate mistake that Jowan definitely regrets!

"Oh, come on, there was a pun in that one! I worked hard on that." Alistair laughs, but Neria doesn't follow suit. Jowan expects her to encourage the line of questioning about her feelings to defuse any further tension with Alistair, so her lack of misdirection gives Jowan pause. She must have deep feelings to be hiding it this much, he thinks. 

Alistair seems to realize at the same time. "Oh, Maker, you've got it bad, don't you?" His grin widens.

Neria closes her eyes for just a moment, lifting a hand to absently touch her pendant for patience. "Please don't," she says feebly.

"Who is it? Who do you have it bad for? Share with the class."

"Is it someone I know?" Jowan asks. She has met a great many people on this trip, and he worries it would feel wrong somehow that he would have missed meeting someone so monumental. An ugly feeling twists in his gut that he doesn't want to examine too closely.

She glances to him, then to Alistair. "I really don't think this is the time. We have business to attend to." She begins to turn to seek out someone for their real purpose here.

Alistair looks to her hand, then to her face. "Oh, you can't be serious," he says.

Neria freezes, hand dropping from her pendant as if burned. She turns to Alistair with her expression uncharacteristically wide-eyed and open. "Don't."

" _Really?_ Is that why you stopped your fling with Zevran?"

Neria's lips thin. " _Alistair_."

"How does he know?" Jowan complains. "Come on, I can keep a secret, who is it?"

Neria spins on her heel again, insistently heading toward a group of mercenaries. "Jowan, later, _please_."

Jowan puts his hands up, even though her back is turned. "Sorry, sorry."

Alistair gives him a look Jowan can't quite read. Then he raises his eyebrows and nods to Neria, as if to suggest taking some sort of action. 

Jowan _really_ doesn't know what sort of action he could take in this situation; she's clearly _otherwise occupied_ , so he shakes his head and follows Neria. 

Alistair throws his hands in the air in exasperation. 

-x-

Unfortunately, Alistair grabs Neria's attention as soon as they return to camp. Jowan sighs, heading to Morrigan's campfire. 

"Were you able to attempt the spell we discussed?" Morrigan asks.

"It worked, but I think I need more practice to be effective. You were right about the suggestion to wait until someone else stabbed me. No one yelled 'maleficar' or threw anything at me." He hasn't dared to use blood magic around Neria outside of lessons since the Deep Roads until today. She noticed, but Alistair and the patrons, prostitutes, and mercenaries in the the Pearl didn't, and that's what matters. 

"Subtlety can be important among the uncultured masses," Morrigan replies, which is _almost_ friendly of her.

"Did you know Neria has feelings for someone?" Jowan asks.

"Hardly my concern. 'Tis a weakness, and she should know better."

"Maker, you'd fit right in at the Circle," Jowan says.

Morrigan's face twists in disgust. "I would sooner drown myself than be caged in a Circle."

"You don't know who it is, either, do you?"

Morrigan huffs, taking out her mother's grimoire to make some edits. Jowan never really enjoys this part of their talks, but he gets out his knife anyway, just in case. "If she has not told you, 'tis not my place to spoil the surprise."

"You _do_ know?" Jowan presses.

"I rather expect everyone except Alistair has pieced it together by now."

"No, Alistair knows. I don't know how, but he figured it out. Something to do with her pendant. It's a tell."

Morrigan laughs at that, long and beautiful. Jowan wonders from her smug expression if Neria's interest might be in her. Morrigan's casual attitude toward sex, her disrespect for authority and the Chantry, not to mention how gorgeous she is—all are consistent with the sort of person Neria prefers to sleep with. He can cross Alistair off the list, at least. That was his biggest worry; Alistair has already half-usurped the best friend vacancy Jowan left when he fled. Not that it's really his business, but it feels like keeping his blood magic a secret has broken something irreparably that she shares this with Alistair but not Jowan. "Yes," Morrigan says, at last, her laughter dying down. "Her pendant is quite the tell."

Across camp, Neria puts a hand over her own face while Alistair laughs. Jealousy roils in Jowan's gut. He thinks something _has_ changed. When was the last time she told him about a crush? Maybe the distance was building between them for a while before his escape; he was the one who drew back first over Lily and then his blood magic. 

"She will tell you when she is ready, not before. Tell me how the spell went," Morrigan demands.

The confidence in Morrigan's voice, that Neria _will_ tell him eventually, eases something small and fragile in his chest. 

-x-

" _Please_ tell me you've thought this through," Alistair pleads.

Neria folds her arms. Hard to quantify; she never had a moment like Jowan did when he heard Lily reciting the Chant and thought, _This is it, this is the one for me._ "Since I was fifteen, maybe longer." Long enough before the Circle took Daylen that he knew about it, too. Long enough for them to fight over her feelings for Jowan ruining their friendship, then Daylen's feelings for Jowan, and then long enough again for them to make up. 

"Maker's breath," Alistair swears. "All right, I give up, I won't try to talk you out of... _feeling_ things. Just, you're my best friend, too, you know. I don't want you to get hurt in all this."

"Your concern is noted."

"You know, more than all the blood magic and the lack of self-preservation instincts and being so accident prone, I think the biggest strike against him is that he can hold a conversation with Morrigan."

Neria laughs. " _That's_ the worst thing about him?" She definitely would have gone with _lack of self-preservation instinct_ , and she doesn't care if that makes her a hypocrite.

"What do they talk about, I wonder?" Alistair watches them for a moment. "Look at that! She's laughing! They're probably discussing swooping techniques or maleficarum trade secrets," he adds with a gravity that betrays how well he's started putting up with Jowan. " _Forbidden magics_ ," he adds in the same spooky, overdramatic tone Jowan uses.

Neria's laughter devolves at that. "Stop!" she insists. "He's funny!"

"Not usually on purpose, though," Alistair insists. "The Chantry would have you believe one maleficar left free could bring down all of Ferelden. I saw him trip and nearly faceplant into the coals yesterday."

"He can be! I bet if you had been stationed at the Circle, you would have _liked_ him. He could never sit through a whole class without cracking a joke."

"You're serious?" Alistair pretends to think about it, but Neria has seen them joking together on occasion. They've been _bonding_ since the Deep Roads. Alistair can't fool her. "You could do worse, I suppose. Like Morrigan." 

Neria watches the little campfire across the clearing, seeing Morrigan happy. Alistair might be onto something; she really doesn't laugh at much. Abruptly, it's not as funny. "I don't think it will go anywhere, anyway," Neria admits. "He thinks of me as more of a sister."

Alistair lifts an eyebrow. "I don't think all of his feelings for you are _sisterly_."

"I think I know him well enough to know."

"Oh, now I feel bad. I'm sure they're not flirting. Not really Jowan's type, if I had to guess. She would rather die than have feelings. Not really dating material."

"Sounds familiar," Neria says. "She's _very_ pretty, though. And tragically heterosexual."

"Tragically," Alistair deadpans. "I think I'd rather she preferred women."

Neria huffs a half-laugh at that. "Probably for the best. I seem to have a type."

"Bad decisions?"

She pushes ineffectually at his shoulder, like trying to shove a mountain covered in plate mail. "Stop bullying me, I am your superior officer, ser."

"Oh, terribly sorry, Your Wardenness, wouldn't dream of it." 


	13. Confessions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Secrets are aired.

Alistair doesn't wake Jowan gently. "I should have charged more for this trade. You didn't tell me your shift was with Oghren."

"You didn't ask!" Jowan defends. He drags a hand over his face, trying to massage wakefulness into it.

"I'll remember this," Alistair assures him.

Jowan drags himself out of his tent after Alistair, who is already on his way to Neria's. Since Wynne isn't awake to tell him what magic _should_ be used for, Jowan utters a quick incantation to boil water for tea. He starts digs through his bag for the package of tea leaves, preparing two mugs.

Neria settles beside him, tugging on her boots. Alistair spares one last glare at Jowan on his way back to his tent.

"What was that all about?" Neria mumbles.

"I traded shifts with him. He took the shift with Oghren." Probably that's all. Jowan _hopes_ that's all. Alistair hasn't brought up Jowan's feelings for Neria since the Deep Roads. Maybe he's forgotten. Probably not. Maybe he's hoping Jowan will talk some sense into Neria, whoever she has feelings for. The list of people Alistair would approve of less than Jowan is low, though. Maker's breath, he's pretty sure the list is literally just Morrigan.

"I'm surprised he made that trade." Neria takes one of the mugs from his hand, interrupting his mental tangent.

"I didn't tell him who the shift was with. _And_ I'm on cooking duty for a few of Alistair's nights."

"Sounds like you got the better end of the deal." Neria grins. "Anything that gets you cooking instead of Alistair is a boon to the whole camp."

"I can still hear you," Alistair complains from his tent. "And I would take offense if you were wrong."

Neria snickers. "Sorry, we'll keep it down." She stands, pulling Jowan to his feet with more strength than he remembers from their days in the Circle and far more than he would anticipate for her stature. "Time for a perimeter, anyway."

Jowan gives Neria a moment to sip at her tea as they walk before popping the question. "So, are you going to tell me who you have a crush on now?"

Her expression freezes into a carefully neutral smile.

"Sorry, you don't have to, I'm just curious."

She bumps him with her shoulder as they walk. "I want to tell you, I just don't want you to think it has to mean anything or... you don't have to say anything about it."

"Of course," Jowan agrees easily. "Seems like you care a lot about whoever it is. I don't want to make you uncomfortable."

The silence drags on while Neria reaches up to play with her pendant.

"The thing is, Morrigan knows and she won't tell me either," Jowan starts. He doesn't mean to blurt the words, but it has been eating at him all day.

"Morrigan knows?" Neria hisses. "Andraste's tits, am I that obvious?"

Jowan laughs. Her curses have gotten a lot more colorful away from the Circle. "Well, I still haven't figured it out." There's a very low-hanging _that's because you're dense, Jowan_ joke there, but Neria never takes the bait.

She takes a deep breath, slowing down their walk. They have made a full pass around the camp, and the only sound they can hear on this end is the crackle of the fire and Oghren's snores. Neria leads them a little further out of sight for just a bit of privacy from Shale, unsleeping.

"It's not Morrigan, is it?" Jowan asks.

Neria giggles, thank the Maker. "No, she's only interested in men."

" _Really_ ," Jowan says, pouring all his relief into his honest incredulity.

"I know!" Neria throws her hands in the air. "That's how you know the Maker has truly abandoned us."

The joke catches Jowan off-guard, startling a too-loud laugh from him that he quickly stifles. "All right, next guess: Anders escaped for good and you _finally_ got to see what he was like in bed. He lives up to every rumor and expectation, and now that's all you can think about."

"Tragically, no," Neria says, wiping away an imaginary tear. "He _did_ escape before Uldred's mess at the Circle, but I don't know where he went, and my curiosity is still unsatisfied."

"Pity," Jowan says and means it.

Neria slows to a stop, leaning against a tree as she looks over their camp. She slips the empty tea mug into her bag, and then her hand is on the pendant again. Now that Jowan has really noticed it he can't stop. "Is it whoever you see in the pendant?"

Her hand freezes. "Yes."

Jowan waits, letting her have the space to think about it. He looks at the difference between her face and the version of her reflected in the pendant when her hand drops. Her face is softer in the silver, like a weight has been lifted. The Neria in the pendant looks like a Neria who has long forgiven him or never been lied to or left behind. She still wears the silverite armor, but she smiles her soft, genuine smile she saves for when she's really happy and can't hide it. It's the smile she uses when she has impressed an enchanter or made a really good joke or caught Jowan and Alistair getting along for five minutes. Jowan hopes that whoever she sees brings her the same peace of mind.

"It's you," she says. the words are so soft, so alone from the rest of their conversation, from any other sentence, that Jowan thinks he's misunderstood.

He almost asks, _What's me?_ like a fool, but he catches himself. He parrots, "Me?" in a near-squeak. Jowan's first instinct is denial. He's not stupid; he remembers every other apprentice at the Circle calling him whiny and annoying and a coward. Even if Neria never said it, even if she has always fought anyone who was caught saying it, he knows the accusations aren't untrue. He _does_ whine a lot. He _is_ a coward. Morrigan _frequently_ lets him know he's being annoying. He wasn't being modest when he told Alistair she deserves better.

"You don't have to say anything, and it doesn't have to go anywhere. I know you think of me as a sister. It's not important."

"It's important," Jowan insists, reflexively. "I-I mean, I'm not going to just dismiss your feelings or anything!" He really doesn't know what to do with the information, though. Should he kiss her? He wants to, but she doesn't look very thrilled about her feelings. Is she ashamed? He can hardly blame her.

Neria sighs. "I meant you don't have to reciprocate. I don't expect anything. I just didn't want you to think I was hiding it from you because something had changed or—I don't want you to feel pressured. You're still my best friend, regardless."

"Of course," Jowan agrees. Her insistence eases his anxiety. "You'll always be my best friend, too. No matter what." Of course she isn't lying; Neria never lies to him. Not like Jowan, lying to her for ages about the blood magic, keeping Lily's identity a secret for their safety, not telling her about his deal. 

Neria nods stiffly.

Jowan curses inwardly. "Have you..." Jowan starts, but stops himself. _Have you really thought this through?_ seems remarkably self-defeating, even for him. He fumbles for literally anything else to say. "I had no idea. How long have you felt this way?"

She shrugs. "A long time."

How long is a long time, Jowan wonders? Since she saw him in Eamon's dungeon months ago and had to spend weeks marching across Ferelden for the Urn? Since the Circle, before he revealed his blood magic? He feels as if his whole life has been turned upside down and shaken for loose change. "Morrigan might have been the safer choice," he says and immediately regrets it.

She laughs at that a little too sharply.

How hard is it to just say he cares, too? He almost wishes Alistair had just told her instead of keeping the secret; that way Jowan wouldn't have to figure this out. He moves forward, kisses her forehead, and leaves a hand on the back of her neck even when he pulls back. He wants to kiss her properly, but he can't stop thinking of Lily in Aeonar, and he can't let that happen to Neria, too. He thinks of Neria admitting she never wanted a normal life anyway, she doesn't need anyone else to understand, _just you_ , and wonders again, _how long?_

"I have less than thirteen years left in my deal," Jowan says. He doesn't let himself think about the words too much before he says them; she needs to know.

Neria makes a sound like she's been stabbed, grabbing at the front of his armor like she can pull the demon out with her hands. "That's so little."

"I'd had about that much in the Circle, so another thirteen outside of it seemed like a reasonable amount. That's enough time to enjoy the outside." Enough time to come up with a contingency so the demon that takes over doesn't have a chance to hurt anyone.

"No," Neria snaps. "That's not enough."

It's not, but it was that or Tranquility, which wasn't much of a choice at all. "You don't want me," he says gently. "What kind of life would that be?" Even with a Warden's shortened life span, she would have more time as a widow than with him, best case scenario.

"I'll tear it out of you like with Connor," she insists. "You can't push me away just to protect me. I'll be at your side in whatever capacity you'll allow from now until the Void takes us." She looks up, the bow of her lips taut with determination.

Jowan feels his defenses crumbling. Why is he even resisting? Because he doesn't deserve this? He draws his attention away from Neria's mouth, back to her eyes, where her brows have shifted from furious to curious.

"Sorry," he says, leaning closer, almost pressing their foreheads together.

"Why?"

"You deserve better."

She laughs, a small, harsh thing, her lips nearly touching his. The anticipation of it, the nearness of her, the luxury of this moment of privacy nearly murders him on the spot. "Who gave you that impression?" The words are soft, friendly, not at all like a threat, but he has known her long enough to know.

"No one. I'm perfectly capable of thinking for myself, you know."

Her fist clenches in his robes again. "I know. Don't be ridiculous. You're the kindest person I've ever met."

" _Neria._ I made a deal with a demon." All of his self-control is on a knife's edge, guarding against the soft exhale of each of her words.

" _Jowan_. I've done worse and lost less sleep over it. I don't care." 

Desperately, he tries harder. "I'm a maleficar. Loghain knows it, Eamon knows it, everyone in Kinloch knows it. I can't—I can't ever have a normal life after this. I will always be a target on your back."

" _I don't care_. I think they're wrong. I don't think blood magic is evil. I don't think you did anything wrong."

"I did a lot of things wrong," Jowan insists. He hopes this isn't one of them.

"You didn't have a lot of choices," she says, though he hardly hears it as she brings a hand up to run one thumb against the grain of his stubble. 

"Sorry." 

"Why are you sorry this time?" she demands, as exasperated as she is fond.

"For making you wait so long." There is no distance between them to close, just the slightest shift to slot his lips over hers. Neria, ever a creature of restraint, moves only in time with him, pressing back only as hard as he pushes first. "Sorry, I'm not—"

"Stop apologizing."

"Sorry," he says, then flinches. "Er—I'm not misreading this, right? You're not looking for a fling, you really feel..."

Her laugh is small and fragile in the dark. "If you'd prefer casual, I can do that."

"I'm in love with you," Jowan blurts, because impulse control really isn't his forte, and he feels he's learned a lot of difficult lessons about open communication and honesty, especially with Neria, since fleeing the Circle. 

"Oh," she breathes. "Good. I—you—You make it sound so easy to say."

"You don't have to say it," he assures. "I just wanted you to know." 

"I... You, too," she manages with some difficulty. 

It's harder to kiss her now; his lips won't quite move against hers while he's smiling this wide, but he tries. Her hand on his jaw tightens as she draws him in, licking her way into his mouth.


	14. Romance???

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jowan and Leliana hit an apothecary; Neria learns about Faith.

They're well out of Denerim by the time Jowan realizes he should hit an apothecary. Jowan waits until Neria has taken a handful of friends into the forest toward the Dalish camp before approaching Leliana. He always feels a bit awkward around her; he's never been especially religious, though he doesn't harbor the same resentment of the Chant Neria does, but more than that, Leliana's red hair, her name, and her too-kind demeanor remind him too much of Lily. 

"Yes?" she asks. 

"I was hoping to make a trip into town for some, er, personal items, but I don't precisely know what to look for." His plan was originally to ask Morrigan to accompany him, but she jumped at the chance to enter the Dalish camp. Thank the Maker, so had Zevran, so he isn't here to smirk at Jowan over _personal items_. 

"I would be happy to help," Leliana agrees. "The Warden has spoken of some things the Circle did not teach." 

"Thank you," Jowan breathes. "It really means a lot." 

"Of course." Leliana follows him away from camp and toward the outskirts of a village they passed on the way in before she finally follows up on the topic. "What sort of personal items do you need help acquiring?" 

Jowan's voice fizzles out like a wasted spell. His relationship with Neria has been moving slowly at his request. In part, he just wants some privacy; it was bad enough at the Circle, where a mage had to make enchanter before getting a private room with a door on it, and even then, it didn't come with a lock. Tents aren't much better.

Mostly, he's afraid.

Neria never assigned any special value to sex, but Jowan finds it hard not to. He already knows far more about her preferences than their young relationship would typically warrant due to their proximity in the Circle. Still, it feels like a big step, and he wants to savor it. That's what non-mages do, right? They take their time with a new relationship.

He didn't really have that luxury with Lily. All of their moments together were stolen, frantic, treasured. 

"I am sure it is nothing to be embarrassed about," Leliana assures him. 

"They don't really have contraceptives at the Circle," Jowan fumbles. "Any herbs that can be used for that were very tightly controlled."

"I can help you with that," Leliana agrees easily enough. "The Warden has mentioned how relationships are discouraged in the Circle, but a rule such as this seems more harmful than helpful. I do not mean to cause offense, but I do not think your Circle has a very just view of the Chant of Light." 

Jowan laughs. "You're not wrong. I think you have done more to make Neria interested in Andraste than a lifetime of mandatory Chantry services." 

Leliana perks up. "Thank you. It saddens me to know that the Circle and the Templar Order use the Chant in such a way when I know that the Maker has such love for all His creations." 

Leliana spots the apothecary before Jowan can work up a reply or go too far into a mental tangent about Lily's views on the Chant.

Jowan freezes up when he steps into the apothecary. Thankfully, Leliana does not. She approaches the shop keeper while Jowan composes himself. He busies himself grabbing some general reagents for health poultices to steady his nerves before approaching. Leliana has several very fancy crystal vials of scented oils laid out, herbs Jowan doesn't recognize, and a book on herbalism. 

The shop keeper takes one look at Jowan's expression and begins laughing. "Looks like you and your lady friend will be well prepared with all of this." 

"Ah, thank you," Jowan agrees. "We're not—er." 

"Oh, I am just helping him surprise his partner," Leliana explains with a pleasant smile. Jowan is suddenly relieved that Morrigan was too busy to come along for this. 

"I grew up... sheltered," Jowan summarizes. Neria's most common lie to explain ignorance of Ferelden custom is to lie and say she's not from Ferelden. There's nothing Fereldens love more than pretending they've never heard of a Ferelden elf. The lie doesn't work as well for Jowan, obviously. 

"Oh, I understand that," the shop keeper agrees. "Your friend says you have some talent with herbs? Some of the mixtures here can be quite advanced, so best careful with the instructions. Wouldn't want to mess up a step and wind up with an accident." He laughs again, but Jowan's stomach twists. Can two Wardens even have children? Would they be tainted, too? 

"Of course," he agrees. He picks up the book, skimming for recipes. 

"He is quite good with tonics and tinctures," Leliana says, which warms Jowan. Unlike Neria, Leliana has no reason to talk him up to everyone around him. 

The recipes are quite clear as they are written out, so Jowan nods as he sets the book back down. "How much for all of it?" 

Leliana giggles. 

The shop keeper's eyebrows climb. "Well, I suppose I could give a bit of a bulk discount. Six sovereigns sound reasonable to you?"

Jowan looks to Leliana for confirmation. She gives a wavy hand gesture for a passable price. "Yes, I can do that." 

-x-

Neria doesn't feel the need to be discreet when she needs a moment of Jowan's time to herself; she jerks her head toward the tree line around the clearing where they have set up camp in the Brecilian Forest and waits for him to follow. She can hear Zevran's wolf-whistle confirming Jowan's departure after her. Thankfully, everyone's teasing is much more bearable and much less pitying than the other apprentices over Cullen's feelings. 

"Is something wrong?" he asks once they have privacy. 

Her smile dropped as soon as she was out of sight of the others. "Yes," she summarizes. "Wynne collapsed today. She has been dead since the Circle." 

Jowan's eyes widen. "She's—you mean _literally_ or—?" 

"She's possessed by a spirit of Faith. That's all that's keeping her alive."

"You're sure? She doesn't _look_ possessed." Jowan peers over her shoulder, though Wynne is much too far for him to see. Neria allows him a moment to look, anyway. 

Neria already checked Wynne for changes and details, even a new or unnatural shine to her eyes. Nothing seems different, except that Wynne should be dead and isn't. Neria can't discount the possibility that the spirit influences Wynne's thoughts or feelings, especially on the topic of faith, but Neria didn't know her well enough before the Wardens to compare in that respect, and she's certainly not going to risk Wynne's life or trust on the off-chance that she can get information from Irving or Greagoir. 

Neria says, "The spirit is deferring to her control to keep her alive. It has followed her for her whole life." 

"You don't look pleased," Jowan observes. 

"I am glad Wynne is alive, but this had happened to you instead, she would call you an abomination." 

Jowan laughs. "You can hardly blame her for something she hasn't done." 

Neria can, and she will. "That's not the only thing bothering me." 

Jowan raises an eyebrow, patiently waiting while she figures out if she wants to allow the thought that's really bothering her a voice. "I've been learning spirit healing with her for a while." Jowan nods; while he hasn't had much of a talent for anything to do with spirits, he has been learning to use a great many support spells alongside her for years, and he has always had more of a knack for creation magic than Neria. "Most spirit healers are approached by spirits in the Fade." 

"You've never mentioned anything like that before," Jowan observes. 

"I thought there was something wrong with me," Neria admits. "Spirit healers are supposed to be kind above all else, that's what draws the spirits. They work with spirits of Compassion, usually, and I'm—" it's too self-deprecating to call herself hollow or unfeeling or _un_ kind, but she nearly says it anyway with uncharacteristic honesty. She has had to make a lot of difficult decisions since leaving the Circle, and she loses sleep over few of them. Too often, she looks to Alistair or Leliana or Jowan for the _kind_ thing to do. "It's not my most forward character trait." 

"You argued for my life when everyone else wanted me dead. _After_ I became a maleficar. I would argue it rather is," Jowan insists. 

" _You_ would," Neria allows before the concern in his expression can shift to pity. "But that's not the problem, I don't think. I thought that's what it was, but Wynne said that her spirit of Faith kept demons back for her." 

Jowan's eyebrows climb as he realizes where she is going; she _has_ been tempted by demons, but not as often as she should expect, given her ability with the Fade, especially not since the Circle. She thought perhaps it was just that since the Veil is thin in Kinloch, the rest of Ferelden must be safer, but even when she returned to find demons wandering the familiar halls, they did not challenge her the same way they used to. "You think there's one protecting you?" 

She shrugs. Jowan is no longer haunted by demons, but she would hardly say that his demon is _protecting_ him. "Wynne said her spirit was a calming presence. I've never felt that. Maybe it's nothing, but... you don't dream of demons anymore either." 

Jowan puts a hand over his eyes so he can think. He used to do that when he was having troubles with a class; block out all distractions. "Fuck." 

"Can you enter my dreams and help me find it?" Neria asks. "That's supposed to be a blood magic ability, but." She shrugs. The culture of fear and lies around what spirits and demons and blood magic can and can't do in the Circle never made for very reliable information, and it's certainly not something Jowan has had time to teach her yet. 

"It's a thing blood magic _can_ do," Jowan agrees, dragging his hand down his face. "I'm not sure if I can do it very well. I've never been very good with the Fade." 

"That's all right," Neria agrees. "I think it's worth trying, if it won't cost too much." 

Jowan shrugs. "I think it should be a lot easier since you're inviting me and the Veil is thin in the Forest." 

She nods. "Tonight, then, if you can." 

Jowan seems to hesitate. 

"If you're comfortable with it," she corrects. 

"I think it's a good use for blood magic," he admits. "I'm just nervous about what everyone else will think. Me in your tent." 

She feels her lips quirking upward. "It's not like it's the first time," though Neria can admit that inviting Jowan in to get him out of the rain was somewhat different from the implications now. "I think you're good for my reputation. Makes me look normal." 

Jowan laughs nervously. "Did they think you weren't before?" 

Well, no one had said anything unkind about it, but they all seem more comfortable teasing her lately. "Leliana says we're adorable," Neria offers because it's true and it made her smile to hear it, especially after Wynne's lecture on the dangers of having a relationship during a Blight with _someone like Jowan_. 

Jowan blushes. "Ah, about that... I needed her help for a surprise for you."

Neria's worries slide off her shoulders. "A surprise?" 

"Nothing big," he insists, which diminishes Neria's curiosity precisely not at all. "We were talking about, er, sex recently, and I went for a supply run." 

"Oh?" she presses, still smiling. She suspects that a supply run involving Jowan and Leliana is somehow less likely to have anything in common with the bag of supplies in Zevran's tent or techniques and herbs she has discussed more than once with Morrigan, which only increases her interest. 

"I didn't really know what to get, so I bought a little of everything." One of his hands swings forward to take one of Neria's. 

"I would be happy to test these surprises out whenever you're ready," Neria says. 

Jowan glances through the trees quickly before ducking down to press a kiss to the corner of her mouth. 


	15. Yet More Blood Magic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jowan enters Neria's dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We really don't know that much about blood magic, all things considered (probably because it's hard to adapt to game mechanics), and I don't have any of the extended universe stuff (like comics or the TTRPG) that might have that kind of info lol, so I winged it. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ Factors that went into How the Dream Walking Blood Magic Works: (1) blood mages can _maybe_ read minds? (2) we know Jowan can go into the Fade and fight a demon with like enough blood to kill a person (3) I mean, you don't really get the option to suggest "just take a little blood from a lot of people, Jowan, I've got four party members right here," so I assume it's more about personal sacrifice or some kind of life force exchange than like actual quantity of blood physically drawn, though fanfic, canon, and meta seem inconsistent about that (probably because bioware is inconsistent about it tbh).

Jowan takes a seat across the campfire from Alistair for their watch, waiting for a Talk that never comes. 

Jowan doesn't know what he expected; for Alistair to comment on the fact that Jowan came out of Neria's tent and not his own? To be interrogated on his intentions? Alistair seems the most prudish among Neria's friends and the most protective, but aside from teasing Neria through the week, there has been nothing. Maybe Alistair has decided he's given Jowan enough shovel talks already. 

It's a bit of a relief that their watch passes uneventfully; Jowan has seen enough over-protective friendships in the Circle go awry, and it's not the sort of behavior Neria ever tolerated. 

Jowan nearly stumbles over Shadow on his way to Neria's side. He waits a bit, figuring it's best to make sure the ex-templar is really asleep before doing any blood magic. Shadow never seems threatened by Jowan, not even with blood magic, which he figures is the best endorsement he'll get.

He hopes for Neria's sake that she's wrong about being shadowed by something in the Fade. Or, at least, that it's just a very ineffective or not very clever spirit and not an actual demon. His hopes are not very high, though.

She reaches for him in her sleep. In the Circle, that meant it was time to help her back to her own bunk before they got caught and given detention for fraternization or being out of bed after hours or whatever Blighted excuse the templars wanted to insist on. Jowan has never been able to just let her reach out and hold on. He grabs her hand in return, squeezing it gently where it rests on his chest.

Eventually, Jowan judges the silence outside Neria's tent to have stretched long enough, and he draws his knife. The cut is quick and shallow, though the magic rips a significant amount of blood from his veins.

When he enters the Fade, he feels vulnerable without access to his magic. It's not his dream, not his mind, and he certainly won't be fighting any demons like this; the ritual cost less blood than the version he offered for Connor because he cannot change anything around him. When Neria sent him into the Fade to save Connor, it was nothing like this. Waking, with the lyrium ritual, he was in the raw Fade, not this close to Connor's thoughts; he could see that Connor was trapped and dreaming, but he couldn't see the specifics, not like he can with the images around Neria. 

Jowan looks around to get his bearings and identifies the apprentice dorms easily. Neria is in his bunk, her voice low next to an image of him. She gives off a near-tangible wave of affection. Distracted, he misses the moment when Neria leans in to the dream-Jowan until he hears the unmistakable wet click of her mouth against someone else's.

Hastily, Jowan clears his throat, face warming with a confusing mix of envy (for himself? is he envious of himself if she was dreaming about him?) and embarrassment.

The apprentice dorms pop like a soap bubble, leaving the raw Fade. Neria gently rights herself in the air as the bunk below her disappears, but the unmistakable memory of being kissed flits through her mind, made all the more vivid by the lack of anything else to think about. Her expression slips to a neutral one, her cheeks somewhat pink and her lips glossy. Jowan can feel her embarrassment, too, not as strongly as the wave of affection, which has not abated since he arrived.

"It worked," she observes.

"Too well," Jowan admits, averting his gaze. "I think I can feel some of your thoughts."

"Lucky I have nothing to hide from you, then," she says, but he can feel the undercurrent of reflexive discomfort.

"I won't pry, I promise. Sorry, I didn't realize this would happen."

"It's fine," she says. However, he also hears more clearly, directly in his head. _That should make it easier to find the spirit._

"Ah! I could hear that!" Jowan says. "Try again!"

_Look behind me. Do you see anything strange?_

Jowan checks over her shoulder, but sees nothing out of the ordinary. Not so much as a wisp. "Is it always this empty in your head?"

Her laughter catches him by surprise.

"Sorry!" he fumbles, averting his gaze, though he can clearly feel that she has not taken offense. "Didn't mean that to sound so..." he sees the mouse hiding behind a piece of debris to Neria's right, smaller than the one he saw in the larder back at the Circle after the tower's cat got possessed and left them without for a few months.

"Are there normally more spirits around?" Neria asks. Her curiosity is genuine and immense in the back of Jowan's mind.

"Well, I used to see a lot of demons. Now, I think they're warded off by the deal I made," Jowan says. He steps closer to Neria, placing himself between her and the spirit. He feels a jingle of suspicion from her, rising to alarm when he gets close enough to lean in and whisper, "There's a mouse on the ground behind me."

Jowan isn't prepared for the mixture of excitement and fear emanating through the Fade, with just a heartbeat stutter of arousal for his breath on her ear that makes his stomach swoop.

The arousal flickers out, quashed under her other feelings so he doesn't have to deal with it. 

"Mouse!" she calls over his shoulder.

Jowan turns to find a man with red hair in the refined robes of a senior enchanter. _This_ is Mouse? Neria said the demon reminded her of Jowan, but he can't see a resemblance between himself and the creature shaped like a man in front of him. "From your Harrowing?" Jowan squeaks.

Mouse seems to exude a confidence—a _pride_ , Jowan realizes—that reminds him too keenly of Neria. It reminds him specifically of watching some horrid little twat of an apprentice hiss an insult at Neria right before a sanctioned practice duel and the unbothered, easy way she moved to take her place for the duel, ignoring the comment and knocking him on his ass with one spell. She hadn't been threatened because she knew she would obliterate him.

Mouse doesn't need Jowan or Neria to bow to it or offer respect; it knows it can win in a fight, and so does Neria. She projects a warning for Jowan: an image of Mouse, larger than she can comprehend, and growing as she was cast from the Fade, back to the Harrowing chamber. She _definitely_ cannot fight Mouse, then, and neither can Jowan, since most of his abilities are based on or augmented by his blood magic, which isn't exactly usable right now, not without a body. 

The fear and excitement coming off Neria double, nearly destabilizing Jowan's own very sensible terror of the demon in front of him. " _Really_ ," he mutters at her. Not a balance Jowan wants to be feeling from her in front of a demon, he thinks.

Neria has one hand on his shoulder, half behind Jowan as she stares down Mouse. _It's a little fascinating, isn't it?_ she thinks at him.

"I wasn't quite ready to be found," Mouse admits. "Your friend has some talent to come here."

Neria exudes pride and agreement, but Jowan pushes the feeling aside to focus on his own discomfort. He doesn't need praise from a demon; he's not so stupid as to think it actually means anything kind, though Neria's feelings are harder to ignore.

"Why are you here?" Neria asks.

Mouse shrugs, moving toward them. Jowan tries to keep himself between Mouse and Neria, as much as she will allow him to. "I can't look after a friend?"

"You're a pride demon," Neria states flatly. "I doubt altruism is your priority."

"Pride needn't _always_ be a trait of demons. Mortals are so specific about the traits they condemn." Mouse gestures to Jowan. "Humility can be a vice in excess. Sometimes, pride is an... inspiration."

Jowan hears from Neria, in Mouse's voice, _The true dangers of the Fade are preconceptions... careless trust... pride._ Jowan glances to her, desperately. Her gaze flickers to him, steely and neutral as ever, despite the fact that she seems to be wavering on agreement and wariness in the back of his mind.

"Can you really trust that the Circle had your best interests in mind when they taught you about spirits and demons?" Mouse asks. "Irving would call Wynne an abomination if he knew. Greagoir would put her to the sword himself."

Neria concurs with that statement too strongly, dangerous amount, Jowan thinks, not least of all because Mouse isn't wrong. Jowan focuses on trying to ascertain a connection between Neria's pride and Mouse, the telltale strings of the Fade tugging at her, pressing at her willpower, like Jowan's demon used in his deal. Either Mouse is too subtle to be sensed or it is convincing her the mortal way. "I have no reason to make a deal with you," Neria insists.

"I rather think you do. I can help you save him," Mouse says. 

Jowan tightens his stance, putting an arm in front of Neria to hold her back. She leans into him, her fear ramping up as she snarls, "I don't need your help to fight his demon."

Mouse rolls his eyes. "Of course you don't. If you needed my help for something so trivial, I wouldn't be here."

 _Hardly trivial,_ Jowan thinks with offense. The Circle teaches that abominations can't be cured at all, despite evidence to the contrary.

Mouse flickers out of existence, bypassing Jowan entirely to appear at Neria's side. "I can help you save him from the Calling."

Neria's hand tightens on Jowan's shoulder. "If it was as easy as calling a demon, Avernus would have found the solution already." Her words are entirely at odds with the tsunami of desperation that crashes over Jowan.

"Avernus never called _me_ ," Mouse says carelessly. "You don't think all demons are the same, do you? For shame. Anyway, I said I wasn't quite ready to be found yet. I'll need time."

"I don't believe you," she says, but that's not entirely true. Mouse's smirk tells Jowan that it has caught the lie, too.

"Avernus has been locked in his tower, trying the same old tricks over and over. He is trying to brute force a lock with tools not made for the job. I have an inkling of where to look for the key."

"Don't," Jowan breathes.

Mouse snorts. "I'm not asking her to trade her corruption so I can take over in 30 years." It turns on Jowan so sharply that snowflakes begin to swirl around Neria's free hand in anticipation of a spell. For a moment, Jowan knows how easy feels for her all the time, how clear the path is between Neria and the Fade. Then, Mouse speaks: "I know where they're keeping Lily."

The fear under Neria's facade magnifies into panic so quickly it nearly overwhelms Jowan. She crushes the feeling, subsuming it under guilt and protectiveness.

"And I don't suppose you'll just hand that information over for free?" Neria asks.

"For free? No." Mouse grins at her. Jowan wonders how much of her emotions Mouse can read. Jowan can feel the conflict in her so strongly that he is certain she will agree to this deal to spite her own fear.

"Aeonar is a popular destination for my kind," Mouse says. "Easy to find in the Fade. If you accept, we will meet again after you've rescued Lily. Then, we'll see where we go from there."

"All you want is a meeting?" Neria clarifies.

"Should you accept, the meeting will be mandatory. I will find you in the Fade, when you are dreaming. You don't _need_ to make a deal next time, but I will have another offer."

"Neria," Jowan pleads, but he doesn't know if he's begging her to refuse because he can't or to accept on his behalf.

"If all it costs is a meeting... I accept." 

"Excellent," Mouse says. "You can bring him again, if you want." The location of Aeonar is implanted into both their minds, sudden, jarring, and not entirely pleasant; Jowan feels the discomfort doubled by his connection to Neria's thoughts. 

When Jowan recovers, glancing around to look for Mouse, he finds that Mouse has vanished. 

"Wake me up," Neria orders. Jowan nods, ending the spell and returning to his body.

Neria still has one arm over his middle in her sleep. He shakes her gently awake.

The tent looks a bit like a murder scene. Jowan summons a wisp, waving a hand to clean the blood he can spot from his ritual. The air smells coppery even when he is done. Shadow blearily glares up at him in the dim light. Neria sits up, scrubbing a hand over her face to wake herself while he works.

"That was interesting," she murmurs.

Jowan laughs, his nervousness finally spilling out. " _That's_ what you met at your Harrowing?"

Neria takes his arm in hers, closing the cut he made, which mostly scabbed over while they dreamed. "That was the one."

"Maker's breath," Jowan huffs. "What was Irving thinking?"

"He wasn't like that last time," Neria fumbles. _He_ , Jowan notes with distaste. Dangerous to be thinking of a demon like it's a person and not a thing, but he decides not to comment. "Mouse said he was an apprentice who failed his Harrowing. He took too long, and the templars killed him."

_Ah_ , Jowan thinks with no small amount of guilt. "Did it try to persuade you with magic last time? Did you feel anything this time?"

"I don't think he can. He knows I would resist in a battle of wills," Neria says. "There was a second demon at my Harrowing that I killed to end the ritual. Mouse stepped away without even offering a deal. He pretended to be weak in front of the other demon, but he could have crushed it with a thought."

Neria had been tempted then, too, Jowan realizes. Hard to say Jowan wouldn't have been tempted, too. 

"I'll add a detour to Aeonar to our path," Neria says, lying back down.

The guilt at the word lodges in Jowan's throat so thickly he finds it hard to speak. "Thank you," he manages at last. He thinks about asking her about the sudden flash of terror she had over Mouse offering the location to Aeonar, but decides it is perhaps best not to press.

"We can take on Flemeth first, then detour to Aeonar before circling back to Redcliffe."

That brings up another question Jowan has been sitting on. He lies down, curling to face Neria. "You're just going to kill Morrigan's mother because she asked?" 

Neria smirks in the dim wisp light. "I'd kill your mother if you asked, too."

Jowan isn't sure whether to laugh or express concern. His mother was... Well. Ignorant would be too kind. "I-I don't think that's necessary," he tries. He hasn't ever wished his mother _dead_ , really, he's just happy enough to stay as far away from her as possible. There are plenty of horrible people in the world. All things considered, Jowan's mother isn't even in the top ten worst things he wishes he hadn't had in his life.

Neria shrugs. "It's an open offer if you change your mind."

Her seriousness warms him. "Thank you," he says. The next question, he knows, is a gamble, but he asks anyway: "Do you want me to go to the alienage with you in Denerim?" It hadn't been open when they passed through for Leliana and Alistair's business there, but it will be a few weeks before they can return again.

Neria stiffens. After a moment, she gives the smallest nod. "Only if we have time," she murmurs.

Jowan reaches out to clasp one of her hands in his. "That's not what you said to any of your friends when they asked for something. I'm sure everyone can spare an afternoon." Even Wynne and Sten have had a personal errand or two. 

"That's—" she starts, but she cuts herself off, defeated. "I don't even know if my mom will still be there. Or how to find her." Or if she's alive, but she doesn't like to draw attention to that, and neither does Jowan. 

Jowan shrugs. "It doesn't hurt to ask."


	16. Revenant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Warden likes to pick up strange phylacteries in dungeons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is based on The Black Vials codex entries/side quest.

Jowan sees the moment Neria's eyes lock onto the phylactery. "Don't," he tries, but it comes out like a whine. 

Neria grins, already making her way across the room. "Another one already?"

Jowan dashes past her, skidding to a stop in front of the phylactery. "Is everyone ready?" he asks. 

Neria's eyes go wide with fear and then narrow in fury. "Jowan, no!" 

Alistair's eyebrows climb. Sten smiles and draws his sword. 

The phylactery crumbles to dust as soon as Jowan's hand touches it. The revenant, as always, appears exactly opposite of where Jowan was looking. This time, he feels as if gravity has shifted entirely sideways for a moment before he is dropped on the floor at the revenant's feet. He rolls out of the way just in time to avoid a large sword stabbing into his middle. 

"Jowan!" Neria shouts. She aims a gout of flame to Jowan's left, setting the revenant on fire. Jowan stumbles to his feet, spinning with his staff just in time to parry another attack from the revenant. Sten manages to attract its attention next, bringing down a wide swing with his weapon that seems to throw the revenant a bit off balance. Alistair appears at his other side, bashing the revenant with his shield. 

"Good job," he says, and he doesn't even sound sarcastic. 

Jowan raises his staff again to prevent the revenant from cleaving him in half, but he doesn't quite have the strength to hold off the swing fully, and the greatsword digs into his shoulder above the staff. Sten and Alistair take advantage of the opening it leaves to swing into the revenant's body. 

The magic yanks Jowan's feet from under him once more as he is drawn back toward the revenant. Neria's magic washes over him in a refreshing chill that nonetheless feels cooler than usual for the icy pull of death around the revenant. 

The fight ends when Neria immolates it with another burst of flame, though Alistair swings into the flaming, screaming mass a few times just for good measure. 

Jowan slumps onto an ancient chest when the fight is finished, clutching one hand to his injured shoulder. 

"Not bad," Alistair says. He raises a hand as if to clap it to Jowan's shoulder, but stops himself. 

Jowan nods in thanks, still trying to catch his breath. 

Neria shoves her way past Sten, hands already alight with magic. "What were you thinking?" 

"I don't know, what do you usually think before you touch a strange phylactery?" 

Alistair laughs, hastily slapping a hand over his mouth at Neria's glare. 

Neria uses a knee to hold her balance, half-perched next to Jowan as she begins her healing. A cool numbness spreads through Jowan's shoulder first, easing some of the tension he didn't realize he was holding. He sees her cast a subtle blood magic, just something to keep the blood moving while she calls on a spirit for assistance. Everyone remains quiet so she can stay focused. As much as Jowan normally hates holding still for too long, he doesn't mind so much when Neria is so close and so intent on her task. 

He has been worried that whatever deal or ritual was between Zathrian and Witherfang would get under her skin, but she seemed perfectly content to convince Zathrian to give up his and Witherfang's lives, even knowing she wouldn't learn the ritual. Jowan isn't quite fool enough to believe she won't be asking him or even Mouse about ritual options, though, now that the idea has been planted in her head. 

Jowan is relieved he doesn't know anything about a ritual like that, because he doesn't know that he would be able to tell Neria no. Then again, it seems likely that a strong emotional component was core to the binding, and that's not really Neria's style. 

Mouse watching over her has thrown a lot of things into a more worrisome light. Does it control or influence which spirits she uses for healing? If Neria is near enough to death, will it offer a deal? Will it let her die and look for another mage? It's a lot easier to jump in front of a revenant for Neria knowing that the alternative for her could be a fate worse than death if she edges too near a fatal injury. 

When the feeling begins to return to his shoulder, the itchy stretch of new flesh knitting together is what comes back first. The skin is tight as Neria works. All in all, it doesn't take too long, and he probably won't have a scar, but Neria still isn't quite as fast at it as Wynne. 


	17. Training

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It takes a few days after they leave the Dalish camp, trekking out of the forest and toward the Korcari Wilds for Jowan to get the hang of the most basic arcane warrior technique of wearing armor and holding a weapon by refocusing his magic toward physical pursuits, but he finds that he takes to the magic more easily than Neria. She never had as much patience for creation magic; not like she does for spirits. Anyway, she splits most of her time between leading their group and learning healing from Wynne and blood magic from Jowan, leaving little time to devote to an entirely new branch of magic. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My computer died near the end of my dao + Jowan recruitment mod playthrough, so I actually still don't have the last few scenes, like archdemon fight and post-credits/Awakening bridge written, but I do still have all this unedited mess I could be posting, so I'm gonna do that. This chapter is brought to you by how much I want Jowan and Alistair to be friends and how hard it is to make that happen.

The trek back toward the Korcari Wilds is long and treacherous. About the time the scenery starts shifting from tainted farmlands to tainted marshlands, Jowan approaches Alistair at camp. "Could you teach me how to use a sword and shield?"

All of them who were present got flashes of the elvhen warrior's memories in the temple; Jowan surely knows enough to get by. "I could give you a few pointers. You've already got the hardest part down."

"Which part is that?" Jowan asks. Good old Jowan, never misses a set up.

Alistair smiles. "Getting between Neria and whatever she's pissed off."

"That's the _hard_ part?" Jowan repeats, already laughing. 

Alistair nods with mock gravity. "You know, I've worked with mages before. They mostly don't like getting hit. There's a lot of 'Oh no, not the face,' and 'Where's the Warden when you need him' and 'At least a templar knows how to hold a shield!' Not so much with the running in and trying to take everything down with them." 

Jowan's smile slips a little. "I've tried talking to her about that." 

"Oh, it worked. This is her _improved_."

Jowan cracks another grin. "She said it was just you and Morrigan for a bit there. How did that go?" 

" _Poorly_." Alistair pushes to his feet. "The best way to learn is probably by sparring."

Jowan hesitates. "Right. You're sure? You can't just... tell me I'm holding my sword wrong?" 

Alistair manfully avoids replying, _I would think that's Neria's business not mine_ because he is a gentleman and because a jab works best when he's not blushing too hard to say it. "You're using an entirely different school of combat; I'm sure you know as much as I do. You could spar with Sten if you'd prefer?" 

"No, nope, that's quite all right, I'll spar with you." 

"That's what I thought." 

Alistair leads Jowan to a clear area at the edge of camp. He doesn't really have any sparring gear; it didn't seem necessary or wise to waste space with that sort of thing, but he's able to negotiate for a set of practice swords from Bodahn. 

"That'll be ten silver, by the way," he says, tossing one to Jowan. 

-x-

Jowan picks up the fighting style the arcane warrior put in all of their heads rather quickly--much more quickly than Alistair would. He assures himself that Jowan is good at this part because he doesn't have to unlearn any sword fighting (like Alistair might, were he to try the same style sans magic) because the alternative is considering that Jowan might have more experience with having arcane knowledge implanted into his mind and sorting through it more efficiently, which is not the sort of thought Alistair can hold onto when he is just getting to like Jowan a bit. 

Really, he _has_ to learn to at least tolerate Jowan. It's not as if Jowan is going anywhere; unlike Morrigan, he's a Warden for life now, even if Neria weren't planning to keep him at her side from now until... forever, probably. 

"You haven't said anything about Neria and..." Jowan makes a vague hand gesture at himself, still trying to catch his breath. 

Actually, Alistair has said plenty, but most of it to Wynne. For all that Jowan and Neria pined for each other for the past few months, Alistair can't help but notice they maintain a professional distance during the day or when anyone turns toward them, especially Wynne. They haven't even made their relationship a secret; it just seems to be a reflex. Wynne, Neria, and Jowan have all three referenced relationships being discouraged in the Circle with varying levels of bitterness and acceptance, but to see the fear in action, to see _Neria_ flinch at scrutiny, is jarring, to say the least. She hasn't been this jumpy since they had to go to the Circle.

"That's not true, I've questioned her choices plenty," Alistair argues. He's a bit winded, but he manages not to show it too badly. 

Jowan huffs. Alistair _thinks_ it's a laugh, hard to tell. "Fair." 

Well, now Alistair feels sort of bad again. Hard to tease someone who doesn't tease back. "She's happier lately."

"You think so?" 

Alistair grins. "Do you think I'd lie to spare your feelings?" 

Finally, Jowan grins back, less self-deprecating. "I hope not. Not about this." 

He's always so _sincere_ , it's downright absurd. Neria keeps all of her feelings close, and Jowan shares his with anyone who looks like they're listening. "Oh, don't worry, I'll let you know if you've upset her. Probably with something subtle and mature, like 'ooooooooooh, look who's in trooooouble!'" 

Jowan laughs properly, finally resuming his stance. "I'll take it." 

Alistair lifts his shield again. The worst thing about Jowan, he's coming to realize, is that Neria was _right_ , Alistair does sort of like him. They have a similar sense of humor and social awkwardness.


	18. Side Quest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neria informs Alistair she has a bit of an errand to run. Without him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I waffled over whether to include a fetch quest for Lily because a) that's what Karma's Origins Companions uses as Jowan's companion quest, and even if I never made it that far with the mod, feels rude to just... steal the idea; b) there's canon indicating that [Lily is still there 10 years later](https://flutiebear.tumblr.com/post/120102266343/we-need-to-talk-about-aeonar), and even though this is clearly and thoroughly an AU and I do what I want, lmao, still had to remind myself it's okay to contradict canon if I want to; c) it's complicated and difficult to write Lily into a fic where Jowan and Surana are already in a relationship, so I actually moved this section around quite a bit in editing. Like, I don't want to paint Lily as a villain or invalidate hers/Jowan's romantic feelings for each other, but I also don't want to commit to writing her into the fic when she has so little characterization, she's essentially an OC if I keep her around.

"Wait," Alistair says as Neria makes to leave. "You're leaving everyone who can wear plate or wield a sword at camp, you don't think that's dangerous?"

"You'll have Wynne," Neria deflects. "It's just a quick errand."

"Not for us—don't play stupid, you know I'm better at it," Alistair insists. "What kind of errand? Is it dangerous?"

"Jowan can hold a shield. We'll be fine," Neria replies. "He's been practicing."

"That's it? One wrong knife in the back—if you get ambushed or—"

"I'll have Shadow, too." At her side, Shadow grumbles fiercely. "We shouldn't be fighting anything. This is more of a stealth mission. Leliana and Zevran will take point, and hopefully no one will ever know we were there."

Alistair's smile is concerned. "Jowan on a stealth mission, do you really think that's a good idea?"

"He's better at it than you would expect. We had a lot of practice in Kinloch." 

"Right," Alistair allows, recognizing a lost argument. "What exactly are you doing? Staging a heist? Off to steal Anora's crown?"

"It's going to be a jailbreak," Neria corrects.

"What, are you going to break into Aeonar for allies next— _oh._ Oh, Maker, you _are_ , aren't you? This is about Jowan. _That's_ why you don't want me along."

"No," Neria hedges. It's not a very good lie. "I didn't think you'd want to come."

"How do you even know where to go?"

Neria shrugs rather than lie to Alistair again. Mouse hasn't appeared in the Fade in the entire trip from the Brecilian Forest to the Korcari Wilds and back north again. 

Alistair scrubs a hand over his face. "You're just going for the Chantry sister, right? _Please_ try to limit the number of criminals you bring back," he jokes, which is as close to a blessing as she's going to get.

"What, you don't think we have enough yet? I've got a collection going," Neria tries. "I could _quadruple_ the number of maleficarum with us."

"Don't even joke about that," Alistair says weakly. "What are you going to do about all the templars in there? You really don't need that many mages in a place like that. It's going to be warded, not to mention all the _demons_."

"Hopefully, we won't even need to fight anyone, but if we do, Jowan doesn't need to draw on the Fade for everything he does," Neria insists. "We won't be helpless." She doesn't mention that she won't be helpless either; the longer she can keep her blood magic secret from Alistair, the better.

"This is a _very_ bad idea," Alistair says.

"So was attacking Flemeth, but everyone seemed down for that."

"Point," Alistair allows. "But _she_ was creepy and possessed, so. You know. It's different."

"Oh, well, if 'creepy and possessed' are the only criteria, I'm sure we can find someone matching that description in Aeonar. I'm doing Ferelden a favor."

"You know, I almost preferred when you were too serious about everything," Alistair says. "Stop trying to be funny about this."

"Is it working?"

"Maker, yes, it is." Alistair scrubs a hand down his face. "And you're all right with this? Emotionally?" 

"Fine," Neria agrees. She's less concerned about whether Jowan is still in love with Lily—they have discussed it a little; he still loves Lily, but he loves Neria, too, and he wants to help her fight the Archdemon—and more concerned with how Lily will react and what Mouse will get out of it. Is he offering an easy win to build trust with Neria, or is this an attempt to ruin her new relationship and emotionally isolate her? Does Mouse care which way it goes? 

"It's just, you know, you and him are sort of... Well, she's the _ex-girlfriend_ , isn't she?"

"It's fine," Neria repeats. She means it, as much as she can. She's doing the right thing, and going out of her way for it, too. She would burn Aeonar to the ground if she thought she could get away with it. 

Alistair folds his arms. "I'm sorry I don't check in on you as often as you check on me, but I care if it upsets you. You know that, right? You can talk about things that upset you? I'm not Morrigan, I'm not going to flip it back on you." 

Neria sighs. "It won't... ruin our friendship, no matter what happens. This is not the first time I've had to deal with jealousy or my own feelings. I used to have another best friend, and he was in love with Jowan, too. We had a pact that we wouldn't be bitter about it as long as the other two were happy." 

"'Used to' isn't the start of a happy tale." 

"He disappeared in the night, like a Harrowing. The templars said he was transferred to Ostwick." 

"I take it you don't believe that." 

Neria shrugs. "It's not impossible. It would have been an early Harrowing, though, and he had a sister in Ostwick, so either she's dead or he is. He was too mouthy, couldn't wait to tell Greagoir to go fuck himself at every opportunity, and he wasn't a _valuable_ mage, not a natural healer or any enchanter's favorite, just another troublemaker. Whatever happens... it won't be as bad as that. If Jowan moves on, at least neither of us is in the Circle or dead." She will still meet Mouse to discuss a cure for Wardens, she will still fight the Archdemon. If Jowan decides that her life isn't for him... as long as he doesn't try to vanish into the night never to see her again, she can make peace with it. 

**Author's Note:**

> My da [tumblr](https://mostlyandersbutttbh.tumblr.com/). Please feel free to hit up the ask box or DMs to Ask Me My Thoughts On Jowan.


End file.
